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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22764532">The Keeper</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawlesspeasant/pseuds/flawlesspeasant'>flawlesspeasant</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Glee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, F/F, Soulmate AU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:27:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>29,075</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22764532</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawlesspeasant/pseuds/flawlesspeasant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Adjusting to life as a college freshman proves to be difficult for Rachel, who struggles to keep a dark secret hidden. Luckily, Quinn is assigned to be her new "Keeper", an angel-like figure who controls the outcome of her life. But Quinn doesn't always make the right decisions and after a few mistakes, she finds herself in the middle of a dangerous battle for Rachel's heart...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. the prologue.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span class="emoji">☼</span>
</h1><p>
  <em>
    <span>The sky is all colorful in shades of orange and yellow, and I can still feel the grass tickling my feet like it was back when we were running through the woods and down to the dock. I wiggle my toes along the wood and notice that they’re warming up since the sun’s hitting them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is the kind of thing I’ve only ever seen in movies.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s kinda like how when the hero flies down from the sky and smashes into the bad guy’s house — WHAM! And he goes BOOM BOOM BOOM, BAM! And he beats the bad guy up and he wins and then he finally gets to sit on the beach and relax with his feet up and a straw hanging out of a coconut. Then the camera zooms out and everyone sees how the sky is red and yellow and orange and white, all at the same time. It’s the moment when the movie is finally over.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I kinda wanna hold your hand,” she says without looking at me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I get a little mad at her for a second because she interrupted me with my thinking and I don’t like it when people do that. Plus, it feels like we’re doing something bad by talking since we were just being super quiet. Maybe it was only quiet so we could catch our breathing, though. Swimming does take a lot of energy outta you, you know.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“...is that weird?” She says again and this time, I’m not so mad at her for talking anymore.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Even though she’s not looking at me, I want to look at her when I say this. So I turn my head and my ear falls into a puddle that my wet hair made by dripping, but it’s okay to get my ear wet because I don’t have them stupid tubes in my ears anymore — Daddy said so.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When I look at her, I see something different. It’s like there’s little tiny hairs all over her body and they’re white so it looks like she’s glowing. Does she glow in the dark? Cool! How come I never noticed that before? I usually notice everything about her. Like right now, I notice how her mouth is shaking and her teeth are all clicky. Maybe she’s cold.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I kinda wanna hold your hand, too.” I say that quietly like I’m telling her a secret because I dunno why, but it feels like a secret. “...S’that weird?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She shakes her head “no” at me and puts her hand down on the dock where there’s nothing but empty space in the middle of us. The waves in the water are making the dock go splish splash back and forth and some wind makes it smell like summer all around me. The wind makes me shiver a little so maybe I’m cold too but then I put my hand on top of her hand and I feel warm again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She looks at me in my eyes and I always kinda knew that her eyes were green like the jungle, but today they look a little different. I wonder if she thinks my eyes are pretty like I think hers are. My eyes are just boring brown but she told me they look like honey the other day so maybe she still thinks that.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She smiles at me and it feels like fireworks shooting across my tummy. I feel weird now, like something inside my body is different and it will never be the same ever again. I don’t want to look at her anymore, so I don’t. And she looks back up at the sky too.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“...I kinda think I might love you.” She talked under her breath like she always does when she’s mad at me. It’s the same way I talk to Dad sometimes and then he threatens to make me go to my room for backtalk.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I feel like I should say something back but I don’t know what. I thought that saying “I love you” was something only grown ups can say to each other or something you only say to your Daddies when they kiss you goodnight.  She isn’t a grown up, she’s eight like me. She’s not tucking me in bed and telling me goodnight. Could she still love me, even though she’s my best friend? And am I allowed to love her back?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Say something… ya weirdo.” She breathed really hard like I do when I don’t want to do something and then she puts her hand back on her Powerpuff Girls shirt instead of holding mine. Maybe she’s mad.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Are you sure?” I ask and then I sit up instead of laying down because laying down is making me feel not good and dizzy. Also maybe I can understand her a little more if I sit up, maybe.  Daddy told me not to mess with the straps because I break them when I do, but I can’t help it. I have to pull the straps on my jelly sandals. It makes me feel better. “Like, for serious sure?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I mean, I think so,” she sits up instead of laying down too, and she makes the dock move. I don’t know why because it’s still gonna be wet anyway, but she twists the water out of her shirt. “I mean, I always wanna be around you and stuff.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I fold the strap on sandals. “...Do you even know what love is?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sure I do!” She talks really loud like she’s excited and her eyes are sparkly and her fat cheeks look even fatter. I like her face. “Love is kinda how like when you give me your cookies at the bonfire when you don’t want them no more. And you don’t even care if I eat them, ‘cause you don’t care if I’m fat.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She makes a laugh come all the way out of my belly when she says that. She is so funny without ever trying sometimes and I think that is important.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re not fat,” I tell her. “Just fluffy.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m eight-years-old and have to wear extra large. I’m fat, it’s okay. You can say it.” She breathes hard again. Daddy calls it “sighing like a brat.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t think you’re fat,” I shake my head “no” and water splatters all over the place. “And I don’t think me giving you cookies is what love is, neither.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I know what love is.” She looks at the sky and sometimes she does that to avoid looking at the globs of fat on her legs. I happen to like the globs of fat on her legs, but she doesn’t. She says they make her feel “shamed” and I don’t know why. I think she is pretty no matter what. “It’s like… Christmas.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Christmas?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Uh-huh,” she nods her head “yes” at me. “Like how whenever you stop opening presents for a minute and you just listen. Love is what’s left in the room when you just listen.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She looks out into the spot where the sun meets the water and squints her eyes like it hurts. I have to think about what she said to make it make sense but I don’t have to think about it for too long to know that it makes me feel different again. I feel like maybe the world makes sense to me like it hasn’t made sense before. I feel older than eight-years-old. Only for just one minute though.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“...Have you ever kissed anyone?” I ask her like I’m saying a secret again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You mean like how Fred kisses Daphne in the Scooby-Doo movie?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah, like that.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No,” she sighs like a brat and shakes her head. “I don’t think I can… ‘cause of my braces. Have you?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Just my dads.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sometimes things happen between us where we don’t have to think. It feels like she knows what I’m thinking and I know what she’s thinking too and I think it happens that way only because we’re best friends. It happens all the time. She says something but before she finishes saying it, I already know what she means. I’ll think something and she’ll whisper it in my ear and it’s like she was thinking the same something. It’s sort of like that this time, only a little different.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She scoots on her butt over to me and I scoot on my butt over to her. And I’ve seen this a million times before actually, like in Spy Kids and the Hunchback and Stuart Little and Harry Potter. I know from watching movies that I have to close my eyes… I think it makes you more brave or something.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She closes her eyes too and I can’t see, but I know it’s her lips that are touching mine because they’re soggy and slippery and wet. I wonder if my lips feel soggy and slippery and wet to her. It’s only official when we make that sucking noise. That’s how I know that I’m really kissing someone. I wonder how people kiss when their noses touch and it’s not comfortable.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We only do it for like two seconds maybe five or no actually I think it was ten. We both take our lips away at the same time and open our eyes slow. It feels like fireworks exploding across my belly again but with more fire this time. She touches her finger against her braces.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“...I kinda think I love you, too.” I put my hand on her leg and I think it’s cool how her skin was really white when she first came to camp and now it’s almost as dark as mine except not really. “Promise we’ll stay in touch when camp’s over.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll call you all the time. Even if it’s long distance calling and uses up all the money.” Her fingers make my hair move away and go behind my ear. “I’ll call you every day until it’s time to come back next year. I promise.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You promise? Pinky promise?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I promise, Rachel. I’ll keep in touch.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Our promise is made…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But for some reason, I don’t think it can be kept.</span>
  </em>
</p><h1>
  <span class="emoji">☼</span>
</h1>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. we should jam sometime!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TRIGGER WARNING: Depictions of self harm. Please read with caution.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span class="emoji">☼</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>I use my teeth to open the bright pink toothbrush holder and spit the plastic onto the floor. It flutters and lands in the mess of cardboard and wrappers that I’ve already made around me. The toothbrush holder is the last piece of the bathroom, so I put it on the corner of the sink and step back to capture the full effect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My dads did a really good job at picking out the decorations, especially if you consider that I wasn’t there with them when they bought any of it. The lime green Sherpa rug in front of the shower, the bright pink toilet seat cover, the vase full of light pink carnations on the toilet tank cover… it’s all pretty perfect and color coordinated. It’s precisely the kind of thing that I would like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So why is it that when I stand near the door and look at the way everything ties together, it doesn’t feel like me at all?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aren’t these toddler colors? Isn’t this the kind of bathroom you’d expect from a five-year-old? Was he right when he said that I would never grow up? Maybe I should have let my roommate decorate the bathroom after all, but I thought I was being nice by offering since she’s buying the curtains and the vacuum, but maybe not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, I have a lot more to do today and practically no time to do it, so I kneel down on the floor and start to clean my mess. At first, I use the side of my hand to sweep the little pieces of styrofoam into my open palm, but the floor is tile and tile is super hard to clean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If I were home, I would just leave the little white pieces caught in the caulking for the next time I decide to actually use a broom to sweep, but my roommate’s gonna be here soon and I don’t want her first impression of me to be that I’m a slob. So I use my fingernails to pluck the pieces out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hate tiled floors. Things always get stuck between the tiles and they never get truly clean, it seems. Trust me, I speak from experience. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I try not to think about it anymore since it’s in the past and I’ve put it behind me, but every time I see a tile floor, it’s like the gears in my head start to shift and I literally can’t help thinking about it…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It felt like I was dragging a fingernail across my skin; a smooth, filed, polished fingernail. It felt like a fingernail because it didn’t hurt at first. Adrenaline was pumping through my body like it replaced blood, and it felt like I was floating. I traced one single line straight down and bit my lip. A lush crimson river ran straight down and tickled when it collected in the bend of my elbow. I held it in front of my face to get a good look because I couldn’t believe I had actually gone through with it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I was on my knees next because I felt weak once the adrenaline went away, and the blood started to drop onto the floor. I’d never seen blood quite that color before — so dark that it looked purple. It started to freak me out a little, so I grabbed the scrub brush from the cabinet underneath the sink and scrubbed until my shoulders ached. The tears free-falling like rivers from my cheeks made it nearly impossible for me to see, but I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until I couldn’t scrub anymore.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I thought about what my dads would think if they walked in at that moment and saw me, on the floor with a cut oozing on my wrist, feverishly trying to get rid of the evidence of a crime I had committed. Their worlds were already falling apart and little pieces of them both chipped away each week when they met with the lawyers. Everything they had ever wanted for me was already shattered. They took every open possibility to tell me that I was the one good thing that came from their marriage, and I thought about how they’d move heaven and earth just to make sure I was happy. It would destroy whatever pieces they had left if they walked in and saw me like this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How could I be so selfish? I had worked so hard to prove him wrong; prove to him that I’m more than just an self-centered, egotistical little brat, and maybe it was time for me to start believing that he was right. Maybe I would never grow up. Maybe I would never stop being so selfish.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was entirely fitting that no matter how hard I scrubbed with the one hand that wasn’t riddled with excruciating pain, I couldn’t get the little cracks between the tiles completely clean.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The sound of my dad’s voice is enough to make me jump, and it shakes me back into reality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m putting the rug down, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hiram. </span>
  </em>
  <span>If that’s okay with you, of course.” Daddy responded, tone laced full of heavy sarcasm. “I forgot I have to ask you permission before I do things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you putting it </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span>?! It needs to go </span>
  <em>
    <span>here.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I took a deep breath and counted to five before I released it. I forget where I learned that from, but it works. I’m not totally calm when I walk back into my room, but I am a little more prepared to deal with one of their infamous arguments after counting to five. I guess asking them to go one day without screaming at each other is impossible anymore because when I walk in, it’s like I landed in the middle of World War III.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would it go there?! It needs to go in front of the door so when she takes off her shoes, she’s not tracking mud all through the place. It snows a lot here in New York. Way more than it snows in Lima.” Daddy turns his back to ignore him and continues rolling the rug out in front of the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, no! You’re doing it all wrong! It’s supposed to go in front of her bed so when she gets up in the middle of the night, she doesn’t step down onto a cold floor!” Dad stomps over to him and snatches the rug away. “Just move!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It makes more sense to have it by the door!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, </span>
  <em>
    <span>LeeeRoy. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It does not! Think about her room back at home, she has a rug by her bed! Not by the door!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not home and it’s not just a bedroom! This is her home! It’s like an apartment for her and we have a welcome mat by our door, don’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And it’s pointless! It doesn’t do —“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It keeps people from getting mud in the house!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are so —“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“GUYS!” I stand in the middle of them with my eyes closed and hands balled up into fists. I hate it when they get like this. Who argues over rug placement?!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can feel that my face is red, feel the irritation washing over me in place of any other emotion. The room falls to deafening silence when both of them concede their respective battles. They hang their heads like kindergarteners about to be scolded for bad behavior and neither one of them has the courage to pick their heads up and face me when they know that today was supposed to be the ONE day where they buried the hatchet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not today, okay?” I look at both of them even though they’re not looking at me. “It’s supposed to be a happy day. It’s my freshman year move-in day. I only have one chance to move into college for the first time. Can we just not taint this memory with fighting? Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, sweetheart,” Dad nods just one time and presses his lips to the side of my head. “We’re sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right, honey. This is your special day.” Daddy combs his fingers through my ponytail and smiles like everything is fine now. “I think we’re both just a little on edge having to leave you here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine, I promise.” I duck from between them and stand at the head of my bedroom with my hands on my hips. “...Daddy, I do kind of want it by my bed instead of the door.” I don’t want to upset one by siding with the other, but it’s my room. It should be the way I want it, right? “But maybe we can go to Target and get a rug for the door before you guys get back on the road.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right, gorgeous,” Daddy nods gently in my direction. “We can always just get another one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, so what’s next?” I tug my left sleeve down to make sure my wrist is completely covered, then head over to my suitcases. “I think we should do clothes next. I’m gonna let my roommate have the dresser. I’m taking the wardrobe closet because I —“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In my back pocket, my cell phone vibrates and it takes me by surprise at first… then it fills me with overwhelming dread. Part of me wants to ignore it and pretend like I don’t feel it shaking against my butt because I still have a lot of work to do and only a few hours left with my dads to do it. But on the other hand… I already know that it’s him who’s calling and since it’s him…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I really can’t ignore it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold on,” I mumble to my dads and slide my phone out of my pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m used to the way my fingers always tremble before I answer his calls, and it’s fairly normal for the room to feel like it’s spinning. The phone buzzes and buzzes and buzzes in my hand and I just stare at it, my mind completely blank. I forgot how to tap the green “answer” button, my brain forgot how to control my hands. My thumb trembles, the room spins and my stomach aches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only thing worse than answering is not answering, though. All I need is the idea — the brief, fleeting thought — of what happens if I don’t answer the phone. That’s all I need to drag my mind back to consciousness and control of my body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be right back.” I squeeze my phone to make sure it’s real, then head for the hallway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rachel,” Dad stands up and nudges his glasses to the middle of his nose. “Come on, put the phone away. We really have to finish this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll just be one second, I swear,” I speak so fast that I stumble over basic words and power-walk to the door so that the phone doesn’t stop ringing before I answer it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only thing worse than answering is not answering and the only thing worse than not answering is making him call back. It’s been two hours since the last time he called, so I should have been expecting another call, but I wasn’t. My stupid fault. I should have been better mentally prepared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” I breathe into the phone, trying to sound calm but busy. “I was just about to call you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m sure you were.” His voice feels like icicles melting down my back; it gives me goosebumps and makes the hairs on my neck stand up. “I told you to call me back at 1:30 on the dot. It’s like two now, or something. So what the hell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you I was getting ready to call.” I have to lean against the wall to support myself because suddenly, my knees are very weak. He’s angry, I can tell. “I had to finish putting my bathroom together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you couldn’t have picked up the phone to text and tell me that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I should have texted. I’m sorry.” I sigh into the phone because sometimes if I sound genuine enough, he lets me off the hook. “I just have a lot of important things going on today and I don’t really have time to talk. It’s been nonstop since we got here, I —“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So… more important than me, that’s what you’re saying?” I can tell by the way he sounds that he is biting his lip and biting his lip makes my blood run cold. Something always comes after he bites his lip… I’m so glad that he’s still in Ohio and not right next to me if he’s biting his lip. “You’re saying that I’m not important?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Finn, you can’t twist my words like that. I didn’t say that, I said —“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, whatever, you’re saying I’m not important.” He sighs the way I did and I can’t tell if he’s mocking me or if he’s trying to relay his frustration. Either way, my mouth is dry. “What’s your address?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” He’s definitely mocking me this time. “Dude, don’t play dumb. It’s totally not cute on you. I asked what your address is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s… um…” I keep the phone pressed to my ear and glance at the gold numbers to the left of my door. “950 Parkview Avenue. Chaplin Hall, room 105.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why’d you hesitate?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I’m still getting used to not saying 241 Birch Hill Road.” Can’t he just leave me alone for once? Can’t he just stop analyzing every word I say and how I say them? “Look, it’s already been a really hard day for me and I —“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” He cuts me off and speaks curtly, but I can hear just a glimmer of solemnity in his voice, so maybe it’s going to be okay. “Sorry I freaked out on you. I just get nervous when you don’t call me. I’m worried about you, you know? Being up there by yourself. People get robbed in New York.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“People get robbed in Lima, too. And in Akron, and in Los Angeles and in Pittsburgh, in Philadelphia… you know, people —“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be a smart ass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not, I’m just saying.” He’s quiet for a moment which allows me to hear inside of my room, and it sounds like Dad and Daddy are going at it again. “I’m being careful, I promise. I have pepper spray and one of those.. rape whistles or whatever, I don’t know.” I laugh a little just to test the waters and see if it’s okay to laugh. He laughs too, so I can relax. It makes me sad to hear him laugh. It makes me remember that we used to laugh all the time. “I’ve gotta go, okay? My dads are all over me with this whole unpacking thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. I love you, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I close my eyes for a few seconds and try my hardest to search my brain for the right words to string together. I have to say it back. If I don’t… I don’t really want to know what will happen if I don’t say it back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I do know that he loves me. I don’t doubt that he does. I just don’t know if love is supposed to feel like this. I’ve felt love once, and it wasn’t anything like this. Granted, I was only a fresh eight-years-old and by all logic, I didn’t know a thing about love, but I know that I felt it. I know it did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t always this way either. He used to open the doors for me and walk on the outside of the sidewalk. There was one time when he even held the umbrella over my head while he got drenched. He used to send me texts that said “good morning” and “goodnight,” and he used to leave random roses in my locker for no good reason. That was when things were nice. That was when loving him was easy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bye,” I whisper to him before hanging up and that’s when the guilt finally washes over me. How can I tell him that I love him when I’m not even sure I mean it anymore? Doesn’t that make me a liar?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel terrible, but I do allow myself to feel proud at the same time. It was hard, but I managed to make it through yet another phone call with him and that’s always something worth celebrating. It’s always great whenever I —</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Someone’s voice snakes into the air from behind me and footsteps follow. I take my hand off the knob of the door and turn in her direction. “Is this your room?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why does she want to know? Forget it, it doesn’t matter. I’d tell her anything she wants to know; anything at all. Hell, I’d tell her what color my underwear are if she asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-Yeah,” I babble, slightly anxious. Even though I’m full of nerves, I still stick my hand out for her to shake. “I’m Rachel. Rachel Berry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know who you are,” she giggles and I’m a goner. Her smile eats her face and she flashes two rows of perfectly aligned, sparkling white teeth. “I used to watch your videos on YouTube sometimes. You’re UBER talented. I’m Dani, by the way. I think we’re neighbors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice sounds the way running your fingers across velvet feels. It’s smooth and it feels good on your ears. Her hair probably feels good, too. It’s dirty blonde with streaks of light brown and it’s so shiny that I wonder what conditioner she uses. I bet she smells good. Even her hand is soft when I shake it. I wish I could rewind time and meet her again for the second time, just so I can touch her hand again. I wish I could — No. Stop, stop, stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You used to watch me on YouTube?” One of my eyebrows elevates slightly. “You think I’m good? I mean, you’ve actually… heard me sing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Totally!” She adjusts the guitar case she has slung over her shoulder and nods. Her pretty eyes take me back. They make me think of someone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My mind is totally clear now, thoughts of Dani practically vanquished. I get like that sometimes. I get all these intrusive thoughts, mostly about other girls, and I always have to tell myself to stop thinking about them like that. I’ve gotten pretty good at it, actually — all I have to do is remind myself that I’m straight and I have a boyfriend that I actually like having sex with most of the time. Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me and tries to make me think that I could actually be romantic with a girl, but I know that it’s just a hoax because I’ve only ever actually kissed one girl in my life and I was eight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m probably only having those kinds of thoughts about Dani because Dani looks a lot like the girl that I kissed. She has blonde hair like her, really pretty skin, she’s a little on the thicker side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My roommate from last year, Kurt?” Dani continues. “He’s like a huge show choir buff and he made me watch your high school’s performance at nationals last year. I saw you sing Celine Dion and I was totally blown. We should jam together sometime… if you’re into that sorta thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jam…” I smile when the word passes my lips and my brain turns to mush. There’s something about pretty girls that makes me act like an idiot. “For sure. We should jam sometime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got it,” Dani giggles again. I’m not an expert at reading people, but I think she actually likes me and isn’t just trying to be polite. “You should come eat with me and my friends down at the cafeteria later if you’re not busy. Around 5:30?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“5:30,” I nod. “I’ll be there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sweet. We sit by the soda vendors. You’ll see us.” She heads for the door right next to mine and disappears inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I just made a friend on my first day…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe college isn’t going to be so bad after all.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Just a few notes and disclaimers ;;</p><p>1. This story in NO WAY reflects my views of Finn Hudson as a character. I actually didn’t mind Finn in the show. I liked him to a certain extent and he was on my list of favorite characters. I know Finn is not completely like the way I am going to portray him in this story. Just keep in mind that it is a totally alternate universe story.</p><p>2. Even if this story doesn’t start out with Rachel and Quinn being the romantic couple does NOT mean that they won’t be. This is a FABERRY story. Any other couple is just a pit stop on the journey to Faberry. This is Rachel and Quinn. Not Rachel and Dani, not Rachel and Finn, not Rachel and whoever. This is RACHEL AND QUINN. Please don’t be put off by the other pairings Rachel is with on the journey to Faberry.</p><p>3. Since this is my first time trying something science fiction, please don’t hesitate to ask me a question if there’s something I didn’t explain properly. I mapped the story out and I think I’ll do a pretty good job at explaining how things work in Quinn’s society, but if there’s any gray area just let me know.</p><p>4. And finally, just a quick heads up: I never said that the little girl Rachel kissed in the prologue was Quinn. Quinn’s not human in this story.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. just breathe, okay?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span class="emoji">☼</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>“Eighty-one, eighty-two, eighty-three, eighty-four…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she rolls over and finds that the other side of the bed is cold, I try to whisper a little softer when I count. She stretches out her fingers, probably looking for the warmth of my body like she always does, but she only finds the blanket that we share and that’s when she probs herself up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eighty-five, eighty-six, eighty-seven…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She feels around blindly on the nightstand for her glasses. The sun is just barely breaking through the clouds and Morning Bell hasn’t rung yet, so she’s very quiet when she swings her legs over the bed and stretches. Waking up before Morning Bell isn’t a serious offense and we won’t get in trouble for doing it, but it is considered impolite. My sister doesn’t like to be considered impolite, ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today’s a special occasion, though. Today, I think she’ll break the rules a little bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ninety-one, ninety-two, ninety-three, ninety-four…” I count each stroke that the hairbrush makes as I drag it through my fine, golden blonde hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” my sister interrupts me as she tiptoes over to the vanity that we both share. “What’s wrong, Q? Couldn’t sleep?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My hands freeze and my mouth stops moving. She already knows the answer to the question, so I’m not sure what she’s getting out of asking.  It feels like she caught me doing something I shouldn’t have been doing, even though she knows all about my counting quirk. My shoulders slouch when I sigh and hand her the brush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I tried my hardest,” I admit to not sleeping as she drags her fingernail across my scalp to make a nice, even part straight down the middle. “Did I wake you? With my counting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I learned to just tune you out.” She tilts my head to one side and begins weaving one of her famous intricate braids into my hair. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep. I didn’t sleep the night before my graduation either. I was too excited.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excited?!” I snorted, feeling both shock and disbelief. “You mean to tell me you didn’t feel like you were going to piss yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Language, Q!” She tugs my braid hard to chastise me and makes her voice firm, but my sister isn’t all that intimating so I take it as more reassuring than anything. “You know, you really gotta learn to cut that out. You’re the Age of Maturity after today, you can’t just run around saying foul words anymore. It’s going to get you in trouble eventually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah,” I shrug my shoulders because I already know. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Be conscientious with your words. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s on the list of rules hanging in the kitchen area. It’s also on the list of rules hanging in the infirmary, the plant nursery, </span>
  <em>
    <span>every</span>
  </em>
  <span> street corner, the market, the lodges, the offices…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s easy for you to say that you were excited,” I sputter out a hard breath to get my hair out of my eyes. “You already knew what your projection was going to be. You spent so much time helping Ma out in the garden, everyone in The Land knew you were gonna work in the plant nursery.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Going to</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she corrects me as she ties off the first braid and moves to the second. “And you just wait. When the Headmistress calls you up to the stage later and tells you your projection, nobody’s going to be surprised. It’s going to be something you have a real talent for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have a talent for anything, Fran.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure you do.” She makes me hold my head a certain way as she moves down on the second braid. “You’re a really good singer, you know. You’re probably one of the best in The Land. I hear you sing when you help Dad filter through prayers sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too bad there’s no such thing as being a professional singer,” I roll my eyes. “Mercedes would probably get picked over me for that job if there was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe there’s not a professional singing job here in The Land, but there are caretakers. You know sometimes the caretakers sing to the New Ones. It helps them fall asleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to sing to babies for the rest of my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She exhales very hard and I know it’s probably because I used the term “babies.” It’s another thing that is considered impolite, and it’s a term I learned from reading about Them. Down there, they call their New Ones “babies” or “kids.” Up here, we’re supposed to call them “New Ones” or “Children.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Frannie ties off the second braid. “You’re also a very good listener. So I think you’d make a really good —“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you dare say that I’d be good on the Front Line. You know how Ma feels about Us that are on the Front Line. She thinks —“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That there’s very little respect in that job, I know.” She sweeps a few pieces of my bangs out of my face and smiles at me. “All I’m saying is that there’s a projection out there for you. You may not realize it now, but this afternoon when the Headmistress  calls your name and gives you your projection, it’ll make all the sense in the world to you. I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can you promise that?” I look at my hair in the mirror, but I’m really only concentrating on the shiny tears at the bottoms of my eyes. My hair is really pretty, but it doesn’t match the way I feel. My braids fall to the middle of my back and they’re delicate and regal, but I feel the exact opposite of that. “You never had to go into graduation so blind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but Quinn…” Her voice trails off because her mouth moves faster than her brain can calculate the words she wants to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She says nothing because she has nothing to say. She knows that I’m right. There aren’t many things that I can’t talk to Frannie about, but this is one of them. She just can’t possibly understand how it feels to be me right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For as long as I can remember, she’s always had a real knack for taking care of anything green. On end days — days when we were off from school — she never took the chance to sleep in like I did. She always woke up a little bit early and begged Ma to tag along down to the plant nursery. She made good grades in Plant Life, always jumped at the opportunity when Ma asked us to water the plants around Home, and she loved to sit around picking the dead leaves away from the flowerbeds in Garden. When it was time for us to watch her graduate, nobody in the auditorium was surprised that the Headmistress made her Botanist In Training. Her projection made perfect sense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I want that. I want to be able to walk into the Convocation Center in a few hours and know that when my name is called, my projection will be something that everybody saw coming. But what would make sense for someone like me? Someone who shows no real interest in anything and no real promise for any jobs in The Land?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fran…?” I look up when I finally come out of my treacherous thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” She holds a pink ribbon between her teeth and prepares to tie it into my hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you happy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I’m happy, Quinn!” She chirps like the mere thought of unhappiness is unfathomable, but I don’t think she really thought about it. She’s probably never considered the possibility that she isn’t. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” I tilt my head down so she can tie a bow into the ribbon. “I guess I’m just wondering. I mean, I know you like your job at the nursery because you like taking care of the plants. But you never thought that you’d be happy doing something else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never,” she shakes her head. “I know that being in the nursery is a very important thing for me to do. I know that it’s where I’m meant to be. The plants hold our future, you know. Without them, we would —“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have no medicine, I get it.” I mumble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve heard her defend her job at least a thousand times before and each time she does it, I wonder if she truly thinks that her job is important or if she’s just trying to convince herself that it is. I mean yeah, having medicine for The Sick is extremely important, but wouldn’t you get bored? Wouldn’t you crave something more?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The point is, Q… you just have to trust the Headmistress. That’s what it comes down to. She’s very careful with projections. She won’t make a mistake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she’s finally done with my hair, I stand up and open the closet that we both share so I can grab my graduation dress.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess I just don’t like the idea of trusting someone else to decide what I get to do for the rest of my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull my dress off the hanger and step into it. Frannie busies herself with cleaning up the hairbrush just so she will avoid seeing me nude. It would be proper of me to go into the bathroom to change since being nude in the presence of one another is against the rules unless you are In Marriage, but that’s just another rule that I don’t pay attention to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does it look okay?” I turn to Frannie while I ask, adjusting the way it fits around my rounded, pear-shaped body. As if I didn’t hate graduation enough already, I have to wear a stupid dress. “Can you tell that Ma patched it where I ripped it last night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ripped it?!” Frannie adjusts her glasses and gets a closer look. “You ripped it playing Kicking Ball with Mercedes last night, didn’t you?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was the last night of my freedom! The last night before I officially turned into an adult, I —“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Language</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she shakes her head at me and kneels down to hide the patch a little better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><span class="u">Adult</span>. That’s another word that only Them down there use. Up here, we say “Age of Maturity” or “Mature.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever, can you tell it was ripped?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Ma patched it up nicely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as she stands up straight, we both hear the familiar crackling noise that always comes before Morning Bell. And even though I’ve heard Morning Bell at least a thousand times in my eighteen anniversaries, this Morning Bell feels different. It chimes loud, rippling all throughout The Land, and my throat starts to close up. I feel a sense of… doom. I know that’s not the right word and I should be more precise with my word selection, but that’s the only way I can describe the way I feel. I feel doomed. I feel doomed so much that I can feel it, lodged deep in the core of my body. Only one thing makes me feel better when I start to feel like this…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One, two, three, four, five, six…” I whisper to myself as I tap my hand against my thigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lucy…? Francina?” Ma’s voice calls and both me and Frannie turn towards the door. “I know you heard Morning Bell, but I’m coming in to make sure you’re awake. Today isn’t a day to fool around, we mustn’t be late.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re awake!” Frannie calls back. “You don’t have to come in, we’re getting dressed!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, but please hurry. I just spoke with your father and he said he saw the cart coming around, so it should be here to pick us up soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, we’ll be ready!” Frannie said and I’m glad that she chose to speak for us because I don’t think I can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knows that I’m too nervous to function, so she starts stroking my hair, admiring her work and also trying unsuccessfully to soothe me. Sometimes, Frannie envies my hair. She hates that she spends hours working on her own hair and it doesn’t cooperate or lie down the way she wants it to. Her hair is thin, a shade of brown so dark that it’s almost black, and it’s unruly. Her hair is nothing like mine; nothing like the thick, long wefts of yellow and light brown that allow me to wear it in multiple styles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think it’s funny because as beautiful as my hair is, I would gladly cut it all off if I could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just breathe, okay?” Frannie says softly. “You look beautiful and whatever happens… happens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” I nod and try my best to offer a smile that just comes out crooked and nonreassuring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like I said, Frannie tells me all the time that she envies just how “effortless” my beauty seems to be. She’s envying now, I can tell by the way she looks at me in my dress with my hair all done up. But maybe she thinks that I can use some more beauty. Maybe she thinks that if she adds a little something, it’ll help with my confidence and confidence will make my nerves go away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So she rests her hand against my temple, just barely allowing the tips of her fingers to touch the edges of my hair. She smiles at me softly and I have to fight the urge to giggle because it tickles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It tickles when her fingers start to glow their soft white light, and tickles even more when pretty, light pink flowers sprout from them, intertwining their vines inside my two braids.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. i started throwing stuff first.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>* PLEASE DON’T IGNORE THIS MESSAGE *</p><p>Hey guys! I just want to give a really special thank you to those of you who finished All The Best with me. I love you guys so much.</p><p>* BEFORE YOU READ THIS CHAPTER *</p><p>Please go back and read from the beginning when you have time, because I decided to switch the tense + the point of view of this story. Sorry if you started reading it when it was in third person, but I went back and rewrote the chapters in first person, and switched this story to first person instead. I’m really sorry if you guys prefer 3rd person, but I made the decision to switch it to 1st person because I really want to get inside baby Rachel’s head. I think you’ll find the chapters in which we hear from eight year old Rachel really fun and I wanted to challenge myself + do something different by writing from a kid’s perspective.</p><p>Thank you guys for reading anyway! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<h1>
  <span class="emoji"><strong>Summer, 2002:</strong> </span>
</h1>
<h1>
  <span class="emoji">☼</span>
</h1><p>
  <em> “Love was when I loved you. One true time, I hold to. In my life we’ll always… go on.” </em>
</p><p>The microphone starts to slip because my hands are sweaty, gross. But my hands are only sweaty because Prescott McVann is sitting in the very front row and he’s looking at me with his beady little eyes and all of a sudden I feel nervous, which is bad.</p><p>He was really good. He went right before me and I didn’t know he was that good. I’m usually good. I’m usually the goodest person in the room, my Daddy said so. Everybody usually stands up and claps for me and sometimes they even give me whole dollar bills. But Prescott just sang and even though nobody really knows the lyrics to The Scientist, he does. He sang good and he had good pitch and timing and good breath control, every tiny thing that Miss May, the voice coach that my Dad pays a LOT of money to, always tells me that I don’t have.</p><p><em> “Near… far… wherever you are… I believe that the heart does go on…” </em>I start to rock on my feet back and forth so my pretty dress will blow in the wind and everyone can see how sparkly it is at the bottom. </p><p>I picked a blue dress because “My Heart Will Go On” is from a movie called “Titanic” and I didn’t watch it cause I’m not allowed, but Daddy told me it’s about people who love each other then die because their boat got attacked by giant ice and made it sink in the ocean and they all went blub blub, dead. I thought blue was a good color because blue is like the ocean it sanked into and plus I watched a video of Celine Dion singing it and she wore blue and I want to be just like her.</p><p><em> “Once more you open the door!” </em>Everyone gets all quiet when I sing that part because I hit the high note and I did really good, yay. </p><p>Everyone is smiling at me. Everyone except Prescott… I think he knows he did better than me.</p><p><em> “And my heart is safe in my heart and you are and my heart will go on….” </em>Wait no, that’s not the words! Dang it, Rachel! Goodness gravy, how could you forget the words?! On stage! In front of everyone!</p><p>Miss May said if I mess up I should always try to get back on the right key and keep going. She said that I should always keep going no matter how bad I messed up and no matter how bad I get the words wrong. She said keep going, keep going Rachel, no matter what. But she didn’t say that sometimes when you mess up, it can make you feel really bad. She never told me that messing up makes you want to run away and hide… and she didn’t say what happens if you messed up so bad that you can’t even get back on key…</p><p><em> ”Um… near… far… my heart does…” </em>I forgot the part that says “wherever you are”! How could I forget AGAIN?!</p><p>Miss May would be mad at me, red face angry eyes, because I don’t keep going. I don’t want to keep going no more. I don’t think she ever told me what to do if I mess up and everyone starts pointing at me. She never said what could happen when I start to cry…</p><p>“Kids, kids!” Miss Molly and Mr. Dave stand in front of the benches that everyone is sitting on and they wave their hands real fast like they’re trying to tell everyone SHUT UP! but they don’t listen and they just laugh at me and point their fingers and make me feel really bad.</p><p>Miss May said I should never run off stage but you know what I think Miss May is wrong sometimes and for someone who gets a lot of money out of my Dads, she doesn't give very good advice. Forget what Miss May says, I’m leaving. I’m not staying here so people can laugh at me and talk about how much better than me Prescott McVann is.</p><p>I don’t have on good shoes. I have on flip-flops that have silver sparkles on them and they’re not good for running, so I have to be extra extra careful when I run down the steps to get off the stage because they’re crumbly and old wood. It rained yesterday for a little bit so the ground is mushy and I get mud all over my feet when I run, yuck. I don’t like mud on my feet, that’s gross, so I don’t run as far as I want to. Instead, I stop by the biggest tree next to the bathrooms and hide there where nobody can see me, I don’t think.</p><p>But like Daddy always says, I wouldn’t have no luck if I didn’t have bad luck because I picked a tree that I am not alone behind. I picked someone else’s tree, oh no. I have my head looking down at the ground so nobody can see my crying face so all I see is shoes at first and I love those shoes! They’re flip-flops like mine but they’re high like they have a heel except they don’t really have a heel because heels are thin sticks and this is kind of bulky like a block. I like that they’re pink and they have blue letters all over them that say “LEI.”</p><p>“What’s a girl gotta do to get a place to be mad in peace?” She stomps her cool shoe at me and something red falls down onto the ground, kerplunk! I think it was a tomato which are yummy.</p><p>“Sorry.” I sniffed my crying tears and snot boogers back up into my nose. “I was just looking for a place to cry in peace.”</p><p>“Well it’s not here. This is my tree, get lost.” Another tomato falls on the ground so I have to look up and see it because why are there tomatoes falling from the sky? That’s silly.</p><p>She’s kind of bigger than me so she could probably beat me up if she wanted to so I better get lost like she said. She is bigger than me by a lot of pounds probably, but her clothes are nice. Her pants are like shorts except they go down to her knees and they’re pretty colors like dark pink and light pink and light blue and orange and they’re all in straight lines like plaid, I think it’s called. Her shirt is white with a green alligator in the corner except it’s not white too much anymore because it’s mostly red from tomatoes. I think the tiny hair clips shaped like butterflies are pretty in her hair and her hair is brown like mine but not dark brown like mine. It’s long but not longer than mine and it’s thin, not thick like mine. It’s dripping with tomatoes.</p><p>“Are you deaf or something? I said get lost!” She yells at me again and I find it really cool how she has tomatoes all over her but she’s not crying. “This is my tree, I —“</p><p>“Why do you have tomatoes all over you?”</p><p>“They’re not tomatoes, they’re berries from off that bush over there.” She sits down with her back against the tree trunk and takes a deep breath, a sigh. “I didn’t wanna pretend to kiss a boy in acting class. Everyone booed me and threw stuff at me.”</p><p>“That’s really mean.” I sit down beside her because maybe she will be nice now that I know she’s having a bad day. “They shouldn’t have never threw stuff at you. That’s not nice.”</p><p>“Eh, it’s fine,” she puts her head against the tree and looks up at the sky. “...I started throwing stuff first.”</p><p>She laughs which makes me laugh too and I think we are officially sharing the tree to be both sad and mad under at the same time.</p><p>“I guess we can both cry behind the tree at the same time.” I say.</p><p>She shakes her head at me and says, “I’m not gonna cry. If you wanna cry, cry. But not me. Nope. I’m not gonna let them make me cry.” She touches me with her elbow. “And neither should you.”</p><p>“Prescott McVann is better than me.” I say like I’m telling her a secret and maybe it’s not a secret except it feels like a secret. It makes me feel embarrassed. “He didn’t forget the words to his song but I forgot the words to mine. He laughed at me.”</p><p>“So screw him. Who wants to be friends with a snobby asshole anyway?”</p><p>She said a bad word… she is so cool! She said a bad word and she didn’t even care! She wasn’t even worried about getting in trouble!</p><p>“How do you know he’s snobby?” I ask her because she seems like a person who is good at knowing other people. “Do you know him?”</p><p>“Nah, but anybody named ‘Prescott’ is definitely a snobby asshole. Trust me.” She says the bad word again and even though she was mean to me at first, I decided that I really like her and want to be her friend, yeah. She is the coolest person I have ever met. We don’t have cool people like her back in Ohio and the coolest people I know are my dads. There aren’t any cool kids in Heritage Elementary School. Not like her.</p><p>“Don’t let Prescott see ya sweat,” she touches me with her elbow again, then puts her hand into her pocket and then shows me her hand full of M&amp;Ms. The colors are sticking to her hand. “Want some? They’re not the peanut ones, so you won’t go into anna-polatric shock if you eat them.”</p><p>“Sure!” I take two red ones and five blue ones. “My name’s Rachel, by the way. Rachel Berry.”</p><p>“Your name sounds like a movie star.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. so, what’s your major?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span class="emoji">☼</span>
</h1><p>
  <span><br/>Dani said that she and her friends would be sitting by the soda vendors, but she never said which one. So now, I’m stuck wandering around the cafeteria like the idiot clueless freshman everyone on campus can spot a mile away, because there are three soda vendors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hold my tray closer to my stomach so it’s not in anybody’s way, and I feel like I might start to cry. I’m willing to bet that if I got on my phone right now and checked my period tracker app, it would tell me that I’m about due for mine. Not that I don’t cry easily anyway, but crying over not being able to find my friends in the cafeteria is a little extreme and something that would only happen if I were PMSing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I miss the days when I was carefree about everything. I used to be one of those girls who went with the flow (literally) and tackled her period as it came. I never thought I’d be the girl who compulsively checks a period tracker app a thousand times a day. I never thought that I’d have the reason that I do for checking it, either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rachel!” I hear Dani calling my name, and she must be close because her voice isn’t lost amongst the conversations all running together. “Rachel, over here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I spin around in the direction her voice is coming from and when I see her sitting at a round table with a few other people, it eases me up a little bit. It’s nice to know that she didn’t stand me up like I sort of expected her to. Girls like Dani don’t usually want to be friends with girls like me. That’s just the way it works.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” I put my tray onto the table as I take the empty seat next to a fresh-faced boy with black painted fingernails. “Sorry I’m late, it took me a minute to get my dads to stop crying and leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No biggie,” Dani shrugs her shoulders and takes a few fries from the mound on a plate in the middle of the table. “I see you decided to try the mac and cheese.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was the only thing that looked edible.” I don’t know how relaxed or how proper I should be with them yet, so I unfold the cloth napkin onto my lap anyway. “Is it any good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None of the food here is good,” the black fingernails boy says. “Except for the fries. You can never go wrong with the fries.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So are you saying I </span>
  <em>
    <span>shouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> eat the mac and cheese? Or are you just telling me to proceed with caution?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m telling you that I hope you have Imodium or Pepto Bismol back in your dorm,” Dani laughs. “We have this thing among us… this inside joke. We just always say that —“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The company who makes the food here is called Sodexo. We always make this joke that all the incoming freshmen lose ten pounds in the first week because they get the Sodexo Shits.” As soon as the black fingernails boy says that, I put a hold on stuffing the forkful of mac and cheese into my mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They seem like a pretty close-knit group of friends. They all burst into laughter when he explains the joke to me and I know I’m not technically in the group yet, but their laughter is contagious and I can’t help laughing along with them. They’re so much different than anyone I knew in high school, and that’s when it hits me that I’m in college now. This is a melting pot, a clashing of people that I always wanted to know but never had the means to. They’re all exactly like me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what’s your major?” He shifts his body so that he’s facing me. “Theater, right? It’s gotta be theater. I’m like, the king of show choir and I watched you perform at nationals on YouTube. Normally, I don’t think anyone should touch Queen Celine, but your take on ‘It’s All Coming Back To Me Now’ literally cured me of my acne. I’m Kurt, by the way. Kurt Hummel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He holds his hand — polished fingernails and all — out for me to shake and I’ve officially decided that he’s probably the greatest person I’ve ever met. When I shake his hand and feel how smooth and exfoliated it is, it’s just further confirmation that he is exactly my kind of person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You moisturize,” I smirk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Three times a day!” He wiggles his fingers at me and I’m convinced now that this is it. This is what it feels like to make a friend that respects you for who you are. This is what it feels like to be around people who aren’t that much different than you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Rachel,” I say to the entire group. “Rachel Berry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Her name sounds like a movie star, doesn’t it?” Dani says. And I feel like someone has said that to me before… But I don’t have time to think about it, because Dani leans forward so we make eye contact. “These are the guys. Kurt, Artie, Mike and Elliot. And you don’t have to worry about them hitting on you, they’re all either gay or taken.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stifle a laugh because again, I’m still not sure how relaxed or proper I should be. Then I flip my hair over my shoulder just so I appear to be comfortable and carefree when I’m really nervous out of my mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what are you guys’ majors? Are you all theater majors too?” I ask, comfortable enough to swipe some fries from the community pile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a theater major too,” Kurt replies. “With concentrations in acting and singing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dance major over here.” I’m not sure of his name just yet because Dani didn’t point them out when she rattled off their names, but he’s Asian and he looks like a dancer. He’s got the lean body type, slender legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Directing and producing.” The boy on Dani’s left raises his hand and for the first time, I notice that he is in a wheelchair. “I can sing a little too, but my heart lies behind the scenes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you…?” I nod at the last one, a boy with dark black fluffy hair and electric blue eyeliner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do a little bit of everything, honey.” He winks at me and I think maybe him and Kurt are going to compete for being my favorite. “But I produce. I’m everything that goes into making a good song. The beat, the lyrics. I’m the one-man show.”</span>
</p><p>“Cool…” I whisper. Saying “cool” seems so boring when there are actually a million other ways to describe how I’m feeling about him, but all that I can make come out of my mouth is “cool.” Color me 50% in love and 50% in awe.</p><p>
  <span>“So what about you?” The one in the wheelchair tips his styrofoam cup at me. “Kurt and Dani know what you’re all about. They say you’re a good singer, but me, Mike and Elliot are in the dark. Why don’t you show us what you’ve got?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like… now?” One of my eyebrows raises along with the tone of my voice. “Right here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, why not?” The one they call Elliot speaks next. “It’s a performing arts college, somebody’s always singing in the cafeteria. Nobody will look at you weird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go on, Rachel,” Dani encourages me with that hypnotizing, face-eating smile of hers. “Show ‘em.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A droplet of sweat rolls down the back of my neck and makes me shudder. I can’t sing in a cafeteria full of people.  I don’t usually get nervous and I usually jump at any chance to perform, but it’s my first day of college. I don’t want to get laughed at or made fun of and even if I do rock it out and blow them away, everyone will still be looking at me. Is this really how I want to be known? As the freshman who sang in the middle of the cafeteria?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I… I mean, I don’t… I don’t usually… I mean I’ve never…” I babble, embarrassed. “I can’t… um…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Dani shakes her head, still smiling. “Guys, I think we need to show her a little something. Make her see what </span>
  <em>
    <span>we’re </span>
  </em>
  <span>all about. Elliot, Artie, gimme ‘Starving.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just like that, Elliot and the one in the wheelchair — Artie is his name — grab two wooden skewers from the utensil cup in the middle of us and start to tap on the table. The way she controls them — I’ll call it “Dani Magic” from now on — absolutely mesmerizes me. She leads and everyone follows.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You know just what to say. Shit that scares me, I should just walk away.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dani opens her mouth and starts to sing and she’s got me. Hook, line, sinker. </span>
</p><p>The tone of her voice is so pretty, her pitch is so on point, and hearing her sing my name… all I can do is look at her with my mouth slightly hung open. She bobs her head in perfect tune with the beat the boys are making and I just can’t believe she’s an actual human. She is downright amazing… I can’t remember the last time I felt this way about someone…</p><p>
  <span>It was when I was eight and I held her hand as we ran through the woods and jumped into the lake. It’s the same feeling that I had then, the same disbelief that the person in front of me is, indeed, real.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“But I can’t move my feet,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she continues singing and I feel like I’m in a trance. Did she pick this song because of the undertones? Now I’m stuck wondering. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“The more that I know you the more I want to… Something inside me’s changed. I was so much younger yesterday…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>As long as I’m looking her in her eyes, I feel like I can do anything. I hardly even notice when I open my mouth to sing along with her. I don’t realize what I’m doing until the words are already out.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I didn’t know that I was starving ‘til I tasted you. Don’t need no butterflies when you give me the whole damn zoo. By the way, by the way, you do things to my body… I didn’t know that I was starving ‘til I tasted you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>When I stop singing, Dani looks away from me and back at the guys, which is the moment when my trance ends and I finally notice everyone around me again. I’ve gotten quite good at reading people’s faces when I sing, so I can tell that the boys are genuinely impressed by me based on their expressions alone. Artie’s jaw is still gaped open, Elliot’s eyebrows are raised, Mike’s got this enormous smile on his face, and both Kurt and Dani sport their “I told you so” expressions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn, girl…” Artie whispers loud enough for all of us to hear him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got PIPES.” Elliot shakes his head in disbelief. “We’re having a jam session tomorrow in the lounge. The one in our building. You should come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Totally.” I agree and I’m glad they can’t read my mind because if they could, they’d know that I would agree to almost anything if it means that I get to spend more time with Dani.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, I feel like things are going to be okay. I made a good group of friends already, they seem to really like me and I really like them. College is good for me, I feel it. College is going to shape me, mold me into the person I’ve always been destined to be. No more screaming fights between my dads, no more staying awake at night wondering where their marriage went so horribly wrong. No more walking down the hallway with my head down so Finn doesn’t think I’m looking at other boys, and no more being around to deal with what happens after he bites his lip. I feel free.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that feeling only lasts for a split second, because then I start to feel my phone buzzing in my back pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And I already know that it’s him.</span>
</p><h1>
  <span class="emoji">☼</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>I’m not sure exactly what time it is when I shuffle back into my dorm room, but I’m sure that it’s still pretty early because the sun is out. I’ll have time to organize my desk drawers tonight, and maybe I’ll even have time to hang up some of my pictures. Then after I take a shower and wash all the sweat of lifting and moving my furniture around off of me, I’ll go downstairs and take a look at the gym. Maybe I’ll see Dani down there. She probably works out. She looks like she works out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hang my keys up on the hook that Dad put on my wall, and I’m a little surprised when I hear the sound of cardboard boxes rubbing together, but not really. I sort of expected that she’d be here when I got back. We were down at the cafeteria for quite some time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, hello?” I take my shoes off on the infamous rug that we went and got from Target before my dads left and turn the corner to our bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She has music playing softly from her phone and even with her back turned to me, I can tell that she’s singing along as she folds her clothes into neat piles stacked up on the floor. I don’t know the song that she’s singing, but it sounds upbeat and pretty. I’m not an expert with languages, but I know enough from high school to know that she is singing in Spanish.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Amor prohibido murmuran por las calles. Porque somos de distintas sociedades…” </span>
  </em>
  <span>The tone of her voice is very soft and very pretty, but she’s a bit pitchy and could use some work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” I sit down on my bed and fold my legs so I’m not in her way as she folds. “I’m Rachel. And you must be…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Santana,” she mumbles and turns the music down a little bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to turn it down. It’s pretty. I like it, is it Spanish? Who’s the artist? Are they popular?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please do not tell me they stuck me in a room with someone who doesn’t know Selena.” She tilts her head back and that’s when I finally see her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s very pretty. Her skin color is the color of bronze and it’s pretty, but she also has really thick, smooth-looking black hair. If the singing in Spanish didn’t give it away, I definitely would have guessed she is Hispanic or Latina from her looks. I’m a little embarrassed to admit, so I’ll keep it to myself… but I’ve never listened to a Selena song. I’ve only ever read about her online.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like your bedspread,” I try again to extend some sort of branch of friendship.  “It’s very… clean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean compared to yours, which looks like a typical white girl threw up all over it? Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well clearly, this isn’t going to work. I was just trying to be nice and make small talk with her but she doesn’t seem all that interested, so maybe I’ll try later. I really meant it, though. I do like her bedspread. She has a big tapestry hanging up behind her bed; a navy blue one with a gold mandala design in the middle. Her blankets look like they’re crocheted, and they’re all the same shade of beige.  It’s the navy blue and coral colored pillows that give it a little flair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I go into the bathroom so I can take a shower, I make a mental note to get new dorm decorations when I get a little extra money from my dads. Because maybe Santana is right. Maybe my pink furry blankets and white and gold pillows aren’t really all that special.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I make the water extra hot and then I get in, already thinking about what I’m going to do tomorrow. It’s the day before classes tomorrow and if I get up early enough, I’ll be able to take a walk around campus so I can map out the best routes to each of my classes so I don’t get lost on the first day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have to turn slowly and ease my body into the spray when it’s time to let the water get my back, because it still hurts. Don’t get me wrong, showering is my favorite part of the day because the hot water always makes my back feel a little better. But it’s still tender to the touch and the first few seconds of water pelting the bruises are always the worst.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve memorized where all of them are. It happens that way when you have to think about where to properly place your clothes so that they’re completely hidden from your parents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I press on the one at the nape of my neck, I hide that one by wearing my hair down. I’m careful when I wash my arms because the one on my bicep is yellowing now, but it still hurts, and that’s the one I hide with my shirts. The palm of my hand grazes the one on my jawline when I wash my face, the one I have to cover with makeup. The biggest one — the purple one that takes up more than half of my back — is the one that hurts too bad to press on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a way, I think of him as an artist. His hands are the brushes, covered with paint in shades of black, blue and purple. My body is his canvas, each time he touches me, a new picture appears. He titles his masterpieces, so many that most of them I forgot. My favorites are “I’m sorry” and “I won’t do it again.” The one on my back? That one is called “you just make me so mad sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hide them like they’re the evidence of crimes I committed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Santana unfolds a rainbow flag. We don’t talk to each other as she finishes decorating her side of the room, and I try not to look over my shoulder and pay attention to what she’s doing. I’m busy sorting through the pictures I want to put on my corkboard, but I notice when she unfolds that rainbow flag and hangs it proudly above her dresser. It makes me wonder about the kind of high school she went to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She must have gone to a school that was tolerant and accepting. She must have been able to live her life as who she truly is since she’s so open about it. Maybe she comes from a family that is okay with her sexuality, but also maybe not because I don’t see anyone here with her. I hope eventually she and I become friends, because I’d like to be able to talk to her about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wonder what Dani’s preference is. She seems one way, because she hangs out with all boys and plus she had a boy roommate last year, but I can also see her being the other way. If she was the one way though, I wonder if she’d think of me. I wonder if she’d be interested in me, if she’d think that I —</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nevermind. There those stupid intrusive thoughts go again, worming their way into my mind when they’re not invited. I love Finn. Finn loves me. I am happy with Finn. I do not like girls romantically. I like boys. It doesn’t matter if Dani would think of me in that way because I do not think of her in that way. I don’t think of any girls in that way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Except maybe one, once. There was that one back when I was eight and it’s been ten years, I should let it go. I should be over it by now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet, all I think about is the time I married her underneath the oak tree after the final curtain call of the summer. She gave me a cherry Ring Pop and I gave her a watermelon one. She never came back to camp after that. She never came back and I don’t know what happened to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been ten years and I don’t have much memory of her. I don’t even remember what her voice sounded like anymore, and my mental picture of her is fading. She had light brown hair and these green eyes… I wish I could look her up on Facebook…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that would require me to remember her name.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. but it sure is pretty!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There’s a lot of information in this chapter and I tried really hard not to make it feel like a big information dump, so I decided to drop some easter eggs and then explore them in following chapters. But if there’s anything that is a little confusing, just let me know and I’ll clear it up for you.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><h1>
  <span class="emoji">☼</span>
</h1><p><br/>As soon as I got out of the cart and walked inside the Convocation Center, I realized just how different being on the other side of graduation is.</p><p>I remember when Frannie graduated and I sat on my father’s lap the entire ceremony. I kept trying to crane my neck around the crowds of people sitting in front of me so I could see my big sister and every time we made eye contact, she smiled and waved at me. I was so proud of Frannie back then; so were my parents. I couldn’t wait for it to be my turn so I could make them proud, too.</p><p>I wish I could go back to that part of my life.</p><p>“Did your sister put those flowers in your hair?” Mercedes asks as she wraps her finger around one of the soft pink petals.</p><p>“Uh-huh.” I nod my head and put my hands against my stomach, which already started to ache.</p><p>Mercedes is my favorite classmate. We’ve known each other for as long as I can remember, but her brother graduated with my sister and our families sat beside each other at their ceremony. She and I both grew  bored — sorry, I mean <em> disinterested </em>— with the ceremony and played make believe on the floor instead. Ever since then, it’s been endless hours of playing “ghost” in the memorial park acre and having cloudball fights. I’m going to miss that after today. It’s strange to think that this is the end of our child years.</p><p>“I can’t wait to see what <em> my </em>magic is going to be. Although I doubt it’ll be as cool as your sister’s.”</p><p>“Big deal,” I roll my eyes. “She can make flowers and plants grow. It’s really not that impressive.”</p><p>“But it sure is pretty!”</p><p>I think my Father’s magic is the most impressive magic I’ve ever seen, but I won’t ever tell Mercedes that. She’ll think I’m lame — or <em> uncool </em>, rather — because reading fast really isn’t that exciting, but I think it could be. Father’s a sorter. He filters through the prayers of Them and decides which ones are important enough to answer and which ones can wait. Our magic usually manifests itself as an extension of our jobs, so him being a fast reader makes a lot of sense. Whatever job I get, I hope it comes with fast reading magic. I can’t even begin to imagine how many books I’d be able to get through if I could read as fast as Father.</p><p>“Are you having pain in your core?” Mercedes asks, eyes fluttering down to the hand I have outstretched across my middle. “Are you nervous again?”</p><p>“Why are you using all those words to ask me if my stomach hurts?” I know by the way she shrugs her shoulders that she’s starting already and the ceremony hasn’t even begun yet.</p><p> This is the first step. This is the start of the moment when our friendship — err, <em> classmate relationship </em> — changes forever. It starts with beginning to mind your manners, then transitions into using precise language to say exactly what you mean; no more talking the way Them talk down there. It doesn’t stop, either. Once you reach the Age of Maturity, you just keep growing — keep <em> maturing </em>— until you’re old and don’t remember anything that happened before you started to assimilate.</p><p>“Yes, Mercedes,” I take a deep breath to cut the tension between us. It’s not her fault, anyway. She’s just starting to do what I’ll have to do by the end of this day. “My <em> stomach </em>hurts, and yes, it’s because I’m nervous.”</p><p>She puts her head down and begins to twist the bottom of her white skirt around her fingers. Her kinky, tight, jet-black curls droop to match her mood and I realize then that I might have been a little too abrasive. I lay my hand on her lap and give her my famous “I’m sorry” grin when she looks at me.</p><p>“So what do you think your projection is gonna be?” I ask and she only shrugs at me. “Come on, Mercedes. You have to have <em> something </em>in mind.”</p><p>“I really don’t know,” she shakes her head and her shoulders unclench, comfortable again. “I mean obviously I would <em> die </em>to be a Keeper, but I missed like three questions on my graduation exam, plus I failed the physical evaluation, so I’m not hopeful.”</p><p>“You could still get it. The Headmistress always says that the exams are a baseline. She doesn’t make her decision solely based off the exams, you could definitely still be —“</p><p>“Yeah, right, Quinn.” She rolls her eyes at me and I can feel her blunt cynicism returning. “It’s been years since there’s been a Keeper in my family unit. Nobody respects us here in The Land and you know how hard it is to get things when nobody here respects you. Just this once, I’d like to make them proud. It would change everything for them if I became a Keeper… you know it.”</p><p>Here is when I should say something comforting to her; something along the lines of “your family is great and I really respect you”, but she would know that I’m only being comforting and not honest. She’s right. It’s very hard to get things in The Land if your family has minimal respect amongst Us. Mercedes’ family unit are very hard workers; her mother is very talented when she makes clothes and her father makes some of the best shoes I have ever seen. But there’s very little respect in jobs like that, and a little respect goes a very long way. </p><p>My family unit is just lucky, I guess.</p><p>“Hey,” I squeeze her hand with mine to get her to look at me. If it wasn’t improper to touch her face, I would use my fingers to wipe the tears off her cheeks. But the Convocation Center is the last place I should break the rules. “No matter what happens today, I promise your family unit will be okay. I’ll tell Frannie to keep giving you guys our extra rations. I promise.”</p><p>“Thank you, Quinn.” She whispers.</p><p>“What do you wanna be if you can’t be a Keeper?” I ask out of genuine curiosity.</p><p>“Mmm,” she rolls her eyes up to the sky and taps her chin like she’s thinking. “I’d at least want to be a Guider or a Screener. What about you?”</p><p>“My Ma would kill me for saying this, but I wanna be in the First Line.”</p><p>“Don’t you think that would get disinteresting after a while? I mean, day in and day out, all you do is go through cases and decide who gets recommended and who doesn’t. Doesn’t that sound like it would drive you to madness?”</p><p>“It seems like something safe,” I mumble. “Think about it. All you have to do in the First Line is read papers and decide if they’re good enough to be forwarded to a Screener. If they’re not good enough? They end up in the slush pile and nobody cares. If they are? Then it’s somebody else’s job. There’s very minimal chance of fucking up in the First Line. It’s my dream job.”</p><p>Mercedes laughs so hard that her nose snorts, which makes me laugh too. I can’t stop thinking about how much I’m going to miss this after today. Breaking rules without serious consequences, not bothering with my language, not having to assimilate… everything was so much simpler one day ago.</p><p>“You know, Quinn,” she lets a few stray giggles still sputter out. “You’re going to be an excellent Keeper. Despite what you think.”</p><p>I wish I could thank her for the compliment, but that would mean that I have to say that I want to be a Keeper when that couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m not sure what the Headmistress is going to say when she calls my name in a few moments, all I know is that I hope she doesn’t say that I’m a Keeper. I don’t want to be responsible for someone else’s life, I don’t care if it’s the most important and highly regarded job in The Land. If she says that I’m going to be a Keeper… </p><p>I’ll run away and that’s that.</p><p>The conversations happening amongst the sea of people inside the Convocation Center all die down little by little, and that usually only means one thing. Sure enough, the Headmistress makes her way down the aisle that separates the graduates from the spectators and up to the stage. We’re not supposed to speak while the Headmistress is speaking, so I count in my head and hope to the prayer warriors that I won’t throw up or piss my pants.</p><p>“Welcome,” the Headmistress starts as she shoves a pair of glasses onto her face. Even rows away from her, I can spot the crinkles in the corners of her eyes when she smiles at Us. “Welcome to day one of our graduation ceremonies. It is such a pleasure to have you all here joining us.”</p><p>She pauses, so everyone is supposed to clap. I think it’s weird how everything we do — even in a large crowd like today — is planned out and perfectly in unison. The idea makes me uncomfortable on the inside.</p><p>“Everyone in this room has been to a graduation ceremony or two in their day, so I’ll keep the opening remarks brief.” She chuckles and just like the clapping, we all laugh at the same time. “It’s going to be a wonderful ceremony this year, full of pride and honor. This year’s graduates have shown some of the most promise I’ve seen in my 107 years of being Headmistress. A lot of the graduates demonstrate some of the very qualities I saw in myself when I became a Keeper many, many,  eons ago. I found so much potential in some of them that I believe I will finally be able to train someone to take my place as Headmistress; someone to take over so I can finally live in The Great Beyond.”</p><p>For some reason, when she says that, I feel like she’s talking directly to me… and suddenly, I really have to pee.</p><p>“Let’s get started with a recital of our mission. If everyone will please join me...”</p><p>I close my eyes like we’re supposed to do anytime we recite the Mission, and I think Mercedes knows that I am five seconds away from having an accident, because she holds my hand. Maybe she’s not completely different already, maybe there’s still a spark of my classmate — no, my <em> friend </em> — in there that still likes to break the rules.</p><p>“It is our duty to serve and protect the children who do not live among Us,” I mouth along as everyone in the room recites it in unison. “Those who do not live among Us have great purpose to fulfil their duties on Earth, and we are in line to ensure those duties are fulfilled. This is our oath, this is our promise. So say we all, Amen.”</p><p>We all open our eyes at the same time and when I look around, it feels like I’m the only one who is as nervous as I am. Everyone else around me — all of my classmates — wear smiles of anxious excitement and me… I feel as though I’m about to cry.</p><p>“As we honor those who graduate today, I’d like to remind you all that every being in The Land is special and every occupation is integral in maintaining our way of life. But today is the day we honor those of us who have been selected for greater purposes — those who are extraordinary. I will begin with those selected to be in the First Line.”</p><p>I cross my fingers like Them down there when they need good luck. I’m not sure of the correlation between crossing your fingers and having good luck because I didn’t get that far in the book I was reading about Them, but I’ve heard that it works. And a little luck couldn’t hurt me right now. Please, for the love of everything holy, let me be in the First Line.</p><p>“Those selected to be in the First Line see the cases up close. Individuals selected for this job must use their special empathetic skills and heightened emotional intelligence to decide whether the case of the child below shall move on and be screened. Please hold all applause until the end of the ceremony, and let me be the first to say congratulations to Dorcas, Maim, Burke, Lilly and Opal. Welcome to the First Line.</p><p>For a moment, I genuinely think that I’m about to burst out into tears because I feel my dream job slipping out of my grasp. Being in the First Line was the only thing I could possibly be good at and now that possibility is gone… luck doesn’t seem to be on my side, but maybe — just maybe — my name won’t get called at all today and I’ll have to wait for tomorrow’s ceremony to find out which regular job I’ve been assigned to. Maybe I’ll be like Frannie and selected as Botanist in Training.</p><p>“I’d like to move on to the Screeners,” the Headmistress continues. “Those selected to be Screeners are an important step in our Keeping process. Individuals chosen for Screening must use their wit and incredible logical thinking skills to determine if we have a Keeper that would make a good fit for the Assignment. Please hold all applause until the end of the ceremony, and let me be the first to say congratulations to Jasper, Charlie, Tanner, Austin and Gia. Welcome to the Screeners.”</p><p>I’m not a Screener either. This could be very good, actually. I just have two more jobs to get through and then it’s smooth sailing. I don’t really care what job I get if I have to wait until tomorrow, I just don’t want a job today. The jobs today are too much responsibility. And I don’t want to leave my Home. Everyone always says it sounds nice to have a Coveted Job like the ones being announced today, because those are the jobs you have to move away from Home to be trained for, and apparently they treat you really well in Training Zone. But I’d rather be Home with Father, Ma and Frannie.</p><p>“I will announce the Guiders next. Those selected to be Guiders are amongst the most organized, reliable and responsible members of The Land. Guiders will use their strong intellect to develop a plan of care for the Assignment, which they will then forward to a Keeper that they feel is the best fit. Please hold all applause until the end of the ceremony, and let me be the first to say congratulations to Piper, Emerald, Ashton, Nathalie and Koa. Welcome to the Guiders.”</p><p>Still good… I’m not a Guider… still good. All I have to do is get through the Keepers…</p><p>“And most importantly, next I will announce the Keepers.” As soon as the Headmistress says that, everyone in the Convocation Center sits upright and makes their children shut up.</p><p>This is the moment everyone always pays attention to. This is the moment where respect is totally gained. I feel as though I can relax a little bit, because I’m fairly certain that I won’t become a Keeper. I could have gotten a perfect score on my graduation exam, but I got a few questions wrong on purpose. I could have passed my physical exam with flying colors, but I pretended to be out of breath during the climbing section. I knew all of the things I <em> should </em>say when I was doing my mental exam, but I said a few wrong things instead. I’m pretty sure I failed every aspect of my graduation assessment and if that doesn’t keep me out of the running to become a Keeper, I don’t know what will.</p><p>
  <em> One… two… three… four... </em>
</p><p>“Our Keepers possess every quality necessary to be a valuable and productive member of The Land,” she looks at the group of Keepers sitting in their own special section when she says that. “Keepers are strong, empathetic. They use their powerful emotional insight and compelling practicality to hold the future of The Land in their hands. They are logical like a Screener, organized like a Guider, reliable and responsible like the First Line, and most of all… trustworthy. Our Keepers have the most important and highly regarded task of leading our lost children — their Assignments — down the path of righteousness so that one day, those children will be able to live amongst us. You may applaud now, and let me be the first to say congratulations to Laurel… Laurel belongs to the family unit of…”</p><p>
  <em> Sixteen… seventeen… eighteen… nineteen... </em>
</p><p>I tap my hand against my thigh as I count and I can’t stop. I thought that maybe once she started announcing the Keepers, my stomach would calm down and I would be a little less nervous but it’s not calming down and I’m still nervous. Because what if she does call my name to be a Keeper? What if she knows that everything I did was just an act? What if she knows that I AM good at pretty much everything I put my mind to, I AM smart, and I AM Keeper material, even despite me constantly trying to convince everyone that I’m not?</p><p>Being a Keeper is scary! It means leaving my family unit. It means no more strolls through the clouds with Mercedes, no more playing Kicking Ball and ripping my dresses, and no more wondering what our magic will be. No more waking up to Father making something that Us call “white fluff” but Them call “angel food cake.” No more singing with Father while he sorts through prayers, no more sleeping in bed with Frannie. I don’t like what being a Keeper would mean…</p><p>“You may applaud now, and let me be the first to say congratulations to Mercedes,” the Headmistress says and my mouth falls open.</p><p>“Quinn…” Mercedes mumbles my name in disbelief. “Quinn, slap me. Please slap me, because I think she just said my name.”</p><p>“She did…” I don’t know whether I’m happy for Mercedes or afraid of what this might mean because she said she failed questions on her exam and she’s <em> still </em>a Keeper… “Oh fucking shit.”</p><p>“Watch your language…” she whispers out of habit. “But oh fucking shit is right.”</p><p>“Mercedes belongs to the family unit of…” The Headmistress goes on with her introduction of Mercedes and I think I might have just pissed myself…</p><p>I’m really happy for my friend, but this means… that the Headmistress really doesn’t base her decisions solely off of our graduation assessments. Oh no…</p><p>“You may applaud now, and let me be the first to say congratulations to Lucy...” She says and everyone looks at me while they’re clapping and I’m so glad that the lights are dim and there are no windows in the Convocation Center, because there is a growing wet stain on the back of my dress…</p><p>No… please no… I’m gonna run…</p><p>Maybe it’s a different Lucy! Yeah! I mean, the chances are pretty slim because nobody has the same name in The Land, that’s just how it works, but Lucy… that could be someone else’s name… especially since I go by “Quinn.”</p><p>“Lucy belongs to the family unit of Russel, Judy and Francina. Lucy was selected to be a Keeper because she demonstrates exemplary emotional intelligence, unwavering determination, impeccable individuality and trustworthiness that is unmatched by anyone I have ever seen. Lucy will be mentored by Claudius, a senior Keeper in his fifth year of Keeping. Congratulations, Lucy. Welcome to the Keepers.”</p><p>I could just run away right now. I could just get up and run and run and run until I can’t run anymore. I don’t know where I’ll go or if there’s even anywhere for me to <em> to </em>go, but I’ll try. I’ll just keep running until they get the picture that I don’t WANT to be a Keeper and finally let me go. I’ll lose honor and respect, sure. Without honor and respect, it’ll be hard for me to get anything; like food from the Rationing and extra blankets from the Tailors. I’d rather have no honor and respect than to be a Keeper. So maybe I could run…</p><p>But when I look back into the crowd behind me and see Frannie screaming and clapping, Ma with her hand clamped over her mouth and Father standing proudly with a single shiny tear rolling down his cheek…</p><p>I decide to stay.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. everybody has a mom, silly.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span class="emoji">
    <strong>Summer, 2002:</strong><br/>
</span>
</h1>
<h1>
  <span class="emoji">☼</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>Daddy made me promise I would save my cookies for a special occasion and not eat them all up in one whole sitting like I usually do, but I think maybe he wouldn’t be mad at me if I told him that I want to share them with my friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I won’t lie if Daddy asks, I only just won’t tell him the truth. There’s a difference, you know. Lying is when you say not the truth because you’re scared of getting in trouble but just not saying the truth is the nicer way because it means you just don’t want to hurt feelings. I will tell him that I ate the cookies for two weeks and then he won’t get mad. He will laugh and tell me that he’s going to bake me more when I get home from camp, yay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I do not know if he would be mad if I told him I gave them to my friend to say thank you, so I just won’t tell him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I couldn’t find her anywhere, not in the cafeteria, not in the bathroom, not in the music room and not in the costume closet. I searched everywhere for her, high and low. Then I see two feet sticking out from behind that dumb old tree again and I know it must be her since she has them cool shoes on again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” My breathing is not good because I ran around a lot trying to find her but now I can finally sit down and get my breathing good again. “Hey, I brought you some cookies!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t answer me and I think she is very rude because you are always supposed to answer people when they call you, even if you don’t like them much. Daddy says that is very very mean if you ignore people and it will make people think you’re a brat, believe I tried ignoring the fake Santa Claus at the mall last year. He said “ho ho ho what’s your name” and his breath stunk really bad so I didn’t say “hi my name is Rachel Berry.” Dad and Daddy said it made me look bad and I was getting coal in my stocking but joke’s on them ‘cause we’re actually Jewish and Santa is not real, ha.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When I get closer to the dumb tree, that’s when I see that she wasn’t ignoring me being rude at all, she just can’t hear me. She has them big headphones on her head and her CD player on the ground next to her. She looks really comfy and relaxed with her back against the tree while she flips through a red magazine with a cartoon bunny on the front, but maybe she won’t care if I sit down and relax with her, maybe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi!” I scream really loud so she can hear me and I think I might have scared her maybe a little bit because her body shakes like she’s scared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus!” She yells at me and rips her headphones off her head. When she sees it’s me standing in front of her with cookies, she stuffs the magazine under her butt like she doesn’t want me to see it or nothing. “I’m gonna put a bell on you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” I apologize and kneel on the ground next to her even though I might get grass stains on my white stockings. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, you did!” Her eyes roll to the back of her head and she makes a mean noise at me. “What part of me chilling out and just listening to music screams ‘bother me!’ to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just wanted to tell you thank you again… for being really nice to me yesterday.” I peel the top off the Tupperware container and put it by her leg. “I brought you cookies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not gonna go away until I eat them, are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only if you really want me to.” The wind blows my hair all over the place and hers too. I like how her hair looks like it’s gold in the sun. “They’re just chocolate chip and walnut. If you’re allergic to nuts, I’ll pick them out for you. Just so you don’t go into anna-polatric shock.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she smiles and halfway laughs, I can see the braces in her mouth. They’re pink and I think they’re pretty but they look like they hurt. She picks up one cookie off the top and takes a bite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your mom make these?” She scoots the Tupperware close to me like she wants me to take one and I’m glad because even though they’re mine, I didn’t want to put my hand in the container because that’s rude maybe a little bit when she’s eating already. “They’re really good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My Daddy,” I pick one up and take a bite too. “I don’t have a mom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everybody has a mom, silly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nuh-uh, not me,” I shake my head. “Daddy said I was made out of love and they paid 99 cents for me at the dollar store.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughs hard and chewed up cookie bits fly out of her mouth, yuck. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and says, “And you believe that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really,” I shrug my shoulders up and down. “But I’ve never seen my mom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So it’s just you and your dad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two dads. Dad and Daddy. Two.” I hold up two fingers just in case she doesn’t get it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re adopted…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t like this conversation anymore and I think she is being very assertive and sometimes assertive is okay like when you really want a part or for your dance teacher to look at you, but other times assertive is rude and she is rude. I think maybe I picked the wrong person to be my friend, just a little. But I already shared my cookies and interrupted her relaxation so it’s a little too late and it’s “tough booby” like my Dad always says except he doesn’t say “booby” he says the other word that I’m not allowed to say that starts with a T.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, for what it’s worth, I think it’s pretty cool. You get two whole dads out of it and most of us are just lucky to get one. It’s okay if you’re adopted. It just means that you —“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What were you looking at?” I stretch my neck out to see the magazine she put under her butt. I am done with that conversation and if she wants to ask about things that are not comfy for me, maybe I can ask about things that are not comfy for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” she mumbles under her breath and tosses a walnut towards the lake. “Is that the only reason you came to bother me? To say thank you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kind of,” I tell the truth even though I don’t think she deserves honesty. “But mostly also ‘cause I was bored. You wanna go back to my room and play dolls? I bought two Barbies, one named Barbie and one named —“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gross,” she sticks her tongue out and makes her face look like she smelled something stinky. “I don’t play dolls.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well what do you do that’s fun then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me and my sister go outside and make mud pies and play baseball. Stuff like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a sister? A real, live, actual sister?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep. She’s pretty cool when she’s not being a bitch.” She pulls the magazine from underneath her butt and hands it to me. “She’s the one who gave me this. She took it from my dad’s closet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m not no rocket scientist or anything, but I don’t think I’m allowed to look at a magazine like this. There’s naked people everywhere! It’s mostly just naked girls with boobs and butts that are way bigger than mine, but it’s still bad! Why does she read stuff like that?!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um… I don’t think I —“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, you’ve never heard of Playboy before?” She asks and I shake my head. “Well… I guess you wouldn’t, with gay dads and stuff. But it’s just a magazine that old men like to look at.” She flips it open for me and that… is… a LOT of skin… how does she bend like that?!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh…”</span>
</p><p>“That’s Christina Santiago. She’s so pretty, isn’t she?” She points to the girl leaning against a car with nothing but undies that give her a serious wedgie. “I wanna look like her someday. I just have to get skinny first.”</p><p>
  <span>“Your dad looks at this stuff…?” I tilt my head when I look at the girl with her butt hanging out. I guess the more I look at it, the less it looks bad…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mostly only at night. I sometimes sneak some too. I like to look at them and imagine what I would look like skinny.” She shrugs her shoulders up and down. “It motivates me to eat right and exercise… for about two minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She makes me laugh, she’s funny. It makes me feel strange to think about how I will look like that someday. My boobs will be big and my butt will be big and I will have hair places I don’t think I should have hair. If I had to look like one of these girls, I think I would like to look like the blonde one with long legs and a nice nose. She’s pretty. I kind of like looking at her…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think these girls have boyfriends?” I ask her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They all date one guy, that’s the kicker part! They all live in one house and date one guy and he’s all their boyfriend! My sister says it’s called sister wives!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sister wives?! That’s insane!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep! They all date the same guy! And my sister says they probably all get their period at the same time too, ‘cause you sync up like that when you’re around lots of girls. I’m for serious, she really said that. And she’s older than me, so she knows everything.” She holds her right hand up. “Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a dirty needle in my eye.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow…” I say like a whisper while I keep turning the pages. Some of these girls are really pretty and they’re even prettier naked. “Do you get yours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get my what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your period,” I explain myself once I finish all pages of the magazine. “I’m not even really sure what that is but Daddy says I’m going to get one someday and that’s what the box of paper sticks in the store is for. He says I’ll have to use them someday but I don’t even know what he’s talking about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My sister gets hers, so I know all about it. It makes you cranky and sad all at the same time. And you can’t wear white. I think it just means you can have a baby now. But maybe I won’t ever get mine ‘cause I don’t ever want to have no babies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me either,” I shake my head. “I don’t even ever wanna do sex with a boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me either. My sister says doing sex is overrated but I don’t even know how she would know ‘cause she don’t even have a boyfriend to do sex with, so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Boys are gross. They don’t clean their fingernails.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And have you ever looked inside their ears?! There’s wax EVERYWHERE. It’s like their mommies don’t even know what Q-tips are!” She sticks her tongue out again and shakes her head. “Ughhhh!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I do it too. I stick my tongue out and shake my head and say “Ughhhh!” too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What kindsa music do you listen to?” She picks up her headphones and her CD player and puts them between us. “Do you like Lady Marmalade?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I LOVE Lady Marmalade! I stay up late sometimes so I can watch Moulin Rouge! when my dads go to bed. I’m not s‘posed to watch it but I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lady Marmalade it is, then. We should totally sit together at dinner. And you should totally move into my cabin. My top bunk is empty and I’m sure my roommates won’t care.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I have to ask Miss Pam first. I can’t just —“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure you can, Rachel. When you start to do whatever the hell you want to do, whenever the hell you want to do it? That’s when your life will be so much simpler.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She untangles her headphones and pats the ground next to her and I don’t know what she means until she lies down in the grass herself. Then I get that she wants me to lie down too, so I do. And she scoots really really close to me, so close that I can feel her body hotness and smell her hair. She puts her ear right up against mine and stretches the headphones out as far as they can go so we both have one on our ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think after dinner, I’m going to pack up my stuff and move into her top bunk bed. I don’t want to not be around her and the only way I can always be around her is if we room together, right? I think she is my bestest friend. I like the way her arm skin feels when it’s pressed up against my arm skin. When she pushes the play button, music fills our ears and makes me happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And we sing Lady Marmalade together until the bell rings for dinner.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Anybody else think baby Rachel is the cutest freaking thing?!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. then i think you have your answer.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span class="emoji">☼</span>
</h1><p>
  <span><br/>All I did was look away from him while he was talking to me, and that was enough to really set him off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We were standing in the middle of the movie theater and I’m sure that if we were alone and not in public, it would have been way worse. He was asking me if I wanted a large popcorn or a small popcorn, and I had just twisted my lips to answer him when a loud thud pulled my attention away. I craned my neck to look behind him and see what it was, and his grip turned icy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I thought it was the strangest thing how quickly it could turn. One moment, he had his hand on my shoulder the way a loving boyfriend usually puts his hand on his girlfriend’s shoulder, and the next moment it was different. I felt his bony, sharp fingers digging into my skin and my entire arm went numb. Tears shot straight to my eyes and I tried to shrug away from him and ask him to stop, but all I could muster up was a tearful, “You’re hurting me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I still hear the way I told him he was hurting me ringing in my ears sometimes. In fact, I still hear it when I roll over in my tiny twin bed and pop my eyes open. First night sleeping in a twin bed vs. my usual queen-sized bed? Success.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My hair sticks to the thin layer of sweat on my forehead and when I try to move, I realize that my clothes are sticking to my body as well. I’m not hot or anything, but I’m sweating and that’s probably because of the dream I had.  Luckily for me, it was only a dream and when I move my left shoulder, there’s no pain. There’s nothing but the mere scar that his fingernails gave to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Santana sits with all her clothes sprawled out across the floor and just like yesterday, she has music playing from her phone. She’s still singing a song that I’ve never heard, but at least it’s in English this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Just wanna kiss girls, girls, girls…” </span>
  </em>
  <span>She sings softly as she folds her clothes into neat piles. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Red wine, just wanna kiss girls, girls, girls…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She realizes that I’m actually awake when she hears my blankets rustle and my mattress creak, and she stops singing almost instantly. Maybe someday when we’re more comfortable with each other, she’ll realize that she doesn’t have to be embarrassed to sing around me. She actually sounds pretty good and even if she didn’t, I wouldn’t judge… too harshly, that is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m on my way to the bathroom when I see her being very discreet about the way she turns her music down. I wonder if she turned it down because she thought it was disturbing me or if she turned it down because she thought that I would judge her for listening to a girl singing about kissing other girls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to turn your music down, you know,” I say as I’m coming out of the bathroom and wiping my hands on the seat of my shorts. “I’m in a performing arts college same as you, obviously I don’t mind a little music.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You an actor or a singer?” She asks, but keeps her music at a level so low that only she can hear it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Both, I guess,” I sit back down on my bed and glance over all her clothes. She has impeccable taste, if I do say so myself. “More of a singer, though. I wanna be on Broadway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That makes two of us.” She stands up and puts her clothes into drawers, but leaves out a pair of jeans and a tank top that I suspect she plans on wearing for the day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wanna head to the union building and see what’s up for breakfast? I don’t know about you, but I’m always hungry when I first wake up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, that’s fine. You go ahead, I’m gonna finish organizing my crap.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She moves on from her clothes and starts to open up packages of school supplies next, so I head for my closet to pick out clothes to wear. I’m starting to think that all me and Santana will ever be is roommates. Every time I try to extend some sort of friendship gesture, she shoots me down and it’s kind of awkward because I don’t want to be stuck in a room with someone who hates me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If I wasn’t so hung up on trying to be a different Rachel in college, I don’t think I’d care as much. The old me would probably revel in the fact that she doesn’t want to talk to me much, because that means I can focus on being the absolute best here at NYADA. The old me wasn’t happy though, and I’m not sure she was a very good person, so I’m trying to be different. Making friends just isn’t my forte, I guess.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what?” Santana calls to me from behind the curtain that sections our room into halves. I closed it because I don’t think she really needs to see me in my underwear as I get dressed. “On second thought, count me in. I am kind of hungry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After I put on my plain black t-shirt, I step into a black skirt with white pinstripes and I wonder if I’m overdoing it just to go get breakfast. I think it’s important to always look your best on campus, though. You never know who’s watching you and plus, it’s NEW YORK CITY. There’s a talent scout on every corner and nobody ever got discovered walking around in jeans and a halter top…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was thinking about taking a walk around campus today,” I pull the curtain open again and grab my hairbrush. “Just to see where every hall is at so I don’t get lost going to classes tomorrow. You’re welcome to join me if you want. I could probably use the company.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see how I feel after we eat,” she picks up her phone and heads for the door and I don’t think it’s fair how effortless her beauty is. She didn’t even try, in her jeans and red tank top. All she did was take her hair out of a ponytail and shake it and it fell perfectly…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She has such pretty skin. She’s not too much darker than me, but her skin just glows. It’s like there’s diamonds perfectly engrained just underneath the surface and she sparkles like those vampires in Twilight. Her face is perfect, too. She has such sharp, intense features that look like they were carved straight out of stone by god himself and her hair… I’ve only ever seen hair like that in a L’Oréal commercial. Usually girls like that have one simple imperfection, but not her. She’s even stick-thin and I didn’t think anybody could get any skinnier than me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ready?” I shake my head when I ask so I can physically clear my thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She just nods at me as she stuffs a key in the back pocket of her jeans, and the two of us walk through the common area and straight out the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s still surreal to me that I’m here, at NYADA, in the heart of New York City. The streets are crawling with people, the early morning air is filled with the hustle and bustle of the city, and everyone around here has a dream. I don’t know what lucky stroke of fate led me here, but I am so glad that it did. It’s like a melting pot full of people that are just like me. Here, I am not too driven or self-centered because everyone is. I’m not the outcast that cares about nothing but performing because that’s the societal norm here. It’s like a breath of fresh air; that moment you come up from underwater and inhale long and deep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Santana looks down at the campus map she downloaded on her phone and sighs when it refuses to load. I remember how to get to the union building, though. I remember from having dinner last night with Dani and her friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stupid campus WiFi is shit,” she sucks her teeth and stuffs her phone away. “It can’t be that hard to find the union building, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know where it’s at. I went last night with our neighbor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The really pretty blonde who lives next door? Always carrying around a guitar?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the one,” I nod once. “Her name is Dani.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Next time you eat with her, I’m totally coming with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of us stop at the crosswalk and I have very brief, fleeting thought of pushing her into the oncoming traffic. I know I don’t own Dani or anything, but I kind of feel like I have dibs on her because I saw her first and I actually hang out with her. Not that I want to date Dani or anything, I just… don’t really want anyone else to? And I want to be her only friend?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I mentally apologize to Santana for wanting to push her into traffic because that’s not fair and I don’t like the kind of person it makes me. Dani’s fair game and the part of me that is actually rational knows that I only feel a weird way about her because she reminds me so much of the time when I was happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I know I was only eight, but there is no age limit on the feeling that she gave me. Every time she looked at me with her emerald green eyes, I felt like I was a little bit more important to the world. I didn’t have the language for it back then and I had no idea what I was feeling, but I know now that the way she made me feel was nothing short of love. I want that feeling again; I can almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>taste </span>
  </em>
  <span>that feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can taste it the way I taste the blood in my mouth when he raises his hand and promises he’ll “never do it again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Rachel…” Santana stops walking as soon as we reach the entrance to the union building and puts her hand on the door to keep me from opening it. “I’ve been meaning to… apologize, or whatever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For the way I came off last night. I didn’t mean to be rude or whatever. I was just in a pissy mood because my abuela didn’t come to help move me in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well…” I pull the door open and hold it for her to walk in. “Why didn’t she come?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because in case you haven’t noticed, I’m what the kids call a lesbian. And it’s not exactly smiled upon in my family.” She keeps her head down and her eyes low when we walk to the cafeteria, and I can tell that she just told me something serious.</span>
</p><p>I would never have guessed, though. I kind of figured that something was up when I didn’t see any of her family helping her unpack yesterday, but I didn’t think that her sexuality was the reason being. She hung up that pride flag so modestly and so openly listened to a song about kissing girls… I just assumed that wherever she came from, everyone accepted her. It seemed fitting for the way that she accepts herself.</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry,” she snorts, sarcasm heavy. “I won’t try to hit on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Santana…” I start to explain, but I realize how horrible I probably just seemed. She just told me that her family hates her for being gay and I said absolutely nothing. How big of a bitch must she think I am?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jewish girls aren’t really my thing.” She rolls her eyes at me and grabs a tray. I grab one too and follow her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Santana, wait. I’m sorry, I just… I mean, I wasn’t judging you. I would never. I was just kinda surprised to hear that and I didn’t know what to say.” I grab two pancakes with the tongs and stack them on my plate, trying to think of what to say so I can convince her that I’m not judgmental like that. “I don’t think you’d try to hit on me. I don’t think all gay people are… predatory or anything, I swear. I have two dads. I grew up with gay parents, so I kinda get how it all seems and I’m sorry if I made you think —“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s cool, Rachel. Seriously. I’m not bothered by it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was just thinking how impressive it is that you know who you are and you’re brave enough to say it, no matter what.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiles for a split second, then it disappears. The armor is back up, but I think we just made a connection. Maybe we will manage to be friends after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bacon?” She tries to hand me the tongs for the bacon and I shake my head. “You don’t like BACON?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jewish, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Santana. And on top of that, I’m a vegetarian.” I walk over to an empty table for two off in the corner and she follows me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a vegetarian…? So you don’t eat meat? Like, at all?” She sits down and passes me a handful of napkins. “What do you eat then?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I eat anything an animal didn’t have to die for.” I pour syrup over my pancakes and stab a piece. “What do you like to eat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything an animal </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>have to die for?” We both laugh at her joke and I’m glad she’s not one of those people who think us vegetarians think we’re morally superior. “So pizza or salad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cheese pizza, hands down.” I swallow my mouthful of pancake and challenge her next. “Chocolate or vanilla?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chocolate,” she replies. “Ranch or barbecue sauce?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ketchup. Fries or onion rings?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Onion rings. Caramel or fudge?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like them both but I’ll never pass up some good fudge.” I take a sip of my orange juice while she chews a mouthful of egg. “Can I ask you a question?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I say no, you’re gonna ask it anyway. So why the hell not? Shoot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m not sure if we’re close enough for me to ask, but like I said… she seems pretty open about it, so I just go for it. “How did you know you were gay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turns her nose up at me like she’s more uncomfortable than disgusted and spreads grape jelly on her toast. “How did you know you were straight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t,” I blurt out before I even think about what I’m saying. I’ve never actually said that out loud before… “At least not for sure. And I don’t go around just telling people this, so I’d really appreciate it if you don’t repeat it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not my place to out you, Rachel,” she looks at me with a grim yet reassuring kind of look. “Do you love your boyfriend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you know I have one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I saw the picture of you two kissing on your desk and I just kinda figured,” she shrugs. “Do you? Love him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly?” I stab at pieces of my pancakes even though I’m not very hungry all of a sudden. “...I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well it’s college, so. If there were ever a time to figure it out, it would be now. You should experiment with a couple girls and figure out if you like it. If you think you like girls, then —“</span>
</p><p>“I kissed one once,” I interrupt just because I don’t want her to think I’m one of those curious girls who saw a girl at the gym last week and thought she was pretty. “Way back when I was young. I don’t know her name and I don’t anything about her or if she’s even bisexual now, but I did. I kissed her and I’m pretty sure I might have even loved her.”</p><p>
  <span>“Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>think </span>
  </em>
  <span>you’re gay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really don’t know. I never actually seriously considered the possibility.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you like kissing her?” She asks, one eyebrow raised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess,” I look down. “I kissed her a few times. So if I kept going back for more, I must have liked it… right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I think you have your answer.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Just two quick questions:</p><p>1. Would it make it easier for you guys if I started to label the points of view at the beginning of the chapters? Are you guys confused at all with the shifts in points of view? I know it could get confusing because I’m telling three stories (Rachel‘s college experience &amp; abusive relationship, Quinn’s journey into becoming a keeper, and little Rachel’s summer story about realizing what love actually is) at once. If you are confused, would it make it easier if I started labeling them?</p><p>2. Does anybody think they know who eight year old Rachel’s friend is? I dropped some hints about her identity already. It’ll be revealed who she is soon, but I was wondering if anyone already picked up on it or has theories about who it is.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. can me and quinn have a minute?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span class="emoji">☼</span>
</h1><p>
  <span><br/>I got in trouble for making up a game once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had just met Mercedes for the first time and we were outside for free time because we finished our speech training early. Me and Mercedes were fast learners. Teacher didn’t want us to distract the other classmates from learning, so she gave us outdoor passes and let us join the more mature children outside for recess. I mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>free time.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a small group of us young children who were shunned by the more mature children. They kicked their balls and jumped into cloud pools and whenever we asked to play — </span>
  <em>
    <span>frolic </span>
  </em>
  <span>—with them, they laughed and patted our heads and told us “no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I found a branch that fell off of a medicine tree. It was a thick branch, one that probably had lots of pain relieving leaves on it once upon a time. Me and the group of outcasts found our own little patch of land to frolic on and the rules just came to me in something like… like a </span>
  <em>
    <span>daydream</span>
  </em>
  <span>, excuse my words. We took turns rolling the small cloudlets — the pieces of clouds that haven’t quite grown yet — up into balls and throwing them at each other while we used the branch to smack them. It was the most fun I’d ever had and I haven’t had that much fun since.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later that day when I got to Home from school, Deus was there. Deus only comes around when the Headmistress is too busy to handle wrongdoings on her own, which is pretty much all the time. I got my privileges revoked for an entire axis rotation because the Headmistress deemed my game as “inappropriate”, which usually means it’s too similar to something Them do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I thought getting my privileges revoked was the worst possible thing that could happen to me back then, but as I sit here at the desk with my chest thundering so loud I can hear it, I realize that there are worse things that can happen to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of them is happening right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The isolation is lonely and I would give anything to just go back home. Something about waiting for your family to come see you in a barren, quiet room for the last time seems so incredibly wrong to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“One… two… three… four…” </span>
  </em>
  <span>I start counting out the amount of times I drum my fingers against the desk to calm myself down, but I’m interrupted by the door opening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t mind the sudden interruption when I see Father filing into the room, and I certainly don’t mind it when Ma and Frannie come trailing behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, sweetie,” Ma walks over to me as fast as she possibly can without being deemed “improper.” Her hand touches my cheek and I feel a little bit sad. “We’re so proud of you! I’m going to miss you so very much, but I am so incredibly proud of you! I’m going to tell all the ones at the Plant Nursery that my daughter is a Keeper!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm…” I start to speak but the words I actually mean to say don’t want to come out. “Thanks, Ma.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe she should also tell all the ones at the Plant Nursery that I don’t want to be a Keeper. Maybe she should put the word out that I’m looking for any possible way to get out of this thing and they can gladly take my place if they want to be Keepers so bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Ma wraps her arms around me in a hug, Father towers over us and encases me and Ma in an even bigger hug. I make sure to inhale really hard so I can make a memory of the way their touch feels and smells. It’s the last time I’ll touch them for a while, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m proud of you, Lucy Lu.” Father rakes his fingers through my hair and grins without teeth. “I always knew you would be our special girl. I know you’ll make us very proud.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll try my best, Daddy.” I mumble into his chest as I squeeze him back, and I know that it must be a pretty momentous occasion because he doesn’t even whack me on the back for using improper speech.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frannie exhales really loud to get all of our attention. For a moment, I figure that she’s just trying to chastise me for calling Father “Daddy”, but the look on her face is anything but disciplinary. She smiles at me without showing teeth and has tear droplets on the lens of her glasses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can me and Quinn have a minute?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even Ma and Father can tell that she’s not really asking so much as telling. They don’t put up much of a fight about leaving the room so my sister and I can be alone and I’m grateful for it because at least with Frannie, I don’t have to pretend to be happy about any of this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m freaking out, Fran!” I say as soon as our parents are gone. “I don’t wanna do this! I don’t wanna leave my Home, I don’t wanna be in charge of someone else, I don’t —“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quinn!” She puts her hands on my shoulders and squeezes. “Relax! It’s okay!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But Frannie, I don’t know what I’m doing! I’m just a kid, I don’t how I could possibly be responsible for a human life, I —“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“ONE. TWO. THREE. FOUR,” she closes her eyes and tilts her head back. “FIVE. SIX…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seven… eight…” I whisper right along with her. “Nine… ten.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ten,” she nods her head. “Are you ready to listen to me?” I nod my head too. “You… are going to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect</span>
  </em>
  <span>, my little doll. You are going to be excellent and this right here is going to be the legacy you leave behind for many generations after you. We all believe in you, Quinn. I know you can do this. I know you can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But what if I mess up?” I bite my lip but tears still fall anyway. “What if I lose respect for us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t.” She wipes my tears away with her thumbs. “That’s just your nerves taking,” she grins because she knows she just used improper speech. “You’re going to be perfect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you still give Mercedes’ parents extra rations? I promised her I would tell you, I promised her you would. I told her —“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” she shakes her head like I just asked her to do something very basic and not something that could have her reprimanded harshly. “I’ll stop by their Home every day on my way to occupation. I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>She pulls me into a hug and puts her lips against my cheek. It’s called a “kiss.” I read that in a book once. It’s not a word that even exists here in The Land, it’s something exclusive to Them. We do not kiss in The Land. It is heavily inappropriate. What my sister just did could have her banned from seeing me ever again.</p><p>
  <span>I think it’s amazing how she thought doing a kiss to me was worth the risk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got you something, okay?” She looks over her shoulder to make sure nobody is secretly in the room with us before she opens the satchel that Mature Women are allowed to carry. “I was waiting for the right time to give it to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy cloudlets and stars…” I say, disbelieving what I’m actually seeing. “Where did you get this?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You remember when I had to make a journey to the information center? To learn more about the plants?” She hands it over to me and it’s just as beautiful as I always imagined my very own would be…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I run my fingers along the soft, shiny fabric and the hard edges. The letters are sunken, embossed inside cover and the pages are yellowed, but still very good. I can’t believe she did this for me. I can’t believe she… she </span>
  <em>
    <span>stole</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She stole from the library… all for me…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a work of fiction, which I know… it’s not what you usually like to read, but I thought it could be fun for you. There’s a… a big building on the cover… I know you like reading about them. Maybe it’ll take your mind off of all your training for a while. I hope you like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love it!” I stare at it a little more and just admire it. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>castle </span>
  </em>
  <span>on the cover is beautiful… </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Princess Bride</span>
  </em>
  <span>… it sounds epic! Frannie isn’t as well versed in human language as I am, so I doubt if she knows what a “princess” or a “bride” is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just don’t tell anybody where you got it from,” she winks at me as she packs it away into the satchel that I’m suddenly allowed to carry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never.”</span>
</p><h1>
  <span class="emoji">☼</span>
</h1><p>
  <span>“This room right here is yours. Please don’t lose the key because it is a true inconvenience to have another one made and it could take several axis rotations to come in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He talks like he’s trying too hard to sound important and older than me when in reality, he looks to be about my age. Ever since I stepped foot inside the cart that brought me all the way here to the Keepers Quarters, he’s been telling me what is what and who is who.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m really tired already and I wish he would wait to bombard me with information. I wish we could start our official training tomorrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opens the door with a key that he hands over to me and steps aside so I can walk in. The room doesn’t look much different from the one me and Frannie share back Home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can move things around however you like. Someone will be bringing your belongings directly here when the first light shines through. Your Assignment’s case file is on the table there. You will study it tonight and know it well by tomorrow. You may want to try getting some rest tonight because tomorrow will be a day full of training.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you say, dude,” I mumble and sit down on the bed. “No pajamas?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are </span>
  <em>
    <span>sleeping clothes </span>
  </em>
  <span>in your wash room. Perfectly your fit, perfectly comfortable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’d you know what size I wear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s my job to know everything about you, Lucy. I am your mentor and you are my responsibility.” He nods at me one time like he’s saying goodbye without actually saying it. “Get some rest. I will wake you up when the first light shines through.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” I fall after him just as he’s leaving. “What do I call you? Mentor…? Mr…. whoever?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My name is Blue.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That is the last thing he says to me before he closes my door and leaves me alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s nothing else I’d rather do than sleep right now, but I already know that I won’t be able to. I can’t get the vision of my sister closing the door so they can take me away out of my head. I can’t shake the feeling of tears rolling down my cheeks even though they’re long gone. And most importantly, I highly doubt that I’ll be comfortable in this bed by myself. Not whenever I’m used to feeling Frannie’s warmth against me at night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think about opening my book and starting to read </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Princess Bride </span>
  </em>
  <span>because I have nothing else better to do than to lie awake and stare at the walls and at least a book would keep me entertained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But second thought makes me consider that maybe I should try to make the best of this horrible situation and do whatever my mentor asks me to do so I don’t totally screw this whole Keeper thing up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I weigh out my options. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Princess Bride… </span>
  </em>
  <span>or reading the file he wants me to read. If I pick my book, then at least I’ll have something to keep me occupied while I stay up all night wishing I could sleep. But if I read the file, maybe it will actually bore me to sleep…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I use the extra pillow on my bed to lay it up against my back just so it feels like Frannie is still here with me. Then, I pick the file folder up off the table and open it up so I can read up on the poor human I am now in charge of.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Rachel</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> Berry </span>
  </em>
  <span>is her name.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. nobody ever taught you how to swim?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <strong>
    <span class="emoji">Summer, 2002:</span>
  </strong>
</h1><h1>
  <span class="emoji">☼</span>
</h1><p>
  <span><br/>“Okay, switch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All I have to say is the magic word — “switch” is the magic word — and her hand sticks up to the top bunk, peek-a-boo. I give her the magazine I just finished with and she hands me a new one that has a gold front page, ooh la la. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girl on the front has bright yellow hair and black glasses on her face but she doesn’t look like a nerd, at least not really. Her undies are white and are giving her a bad wedgie but my new friend says they like the feeling of a wedgie with those underwear and it doesn’t bother them, how? I think if I had a wedgie that bad, it would bother me lots. I would pick it out all day even though Daddy says sometimes it’s not sanner-terry. My new friend also says the girls can’t be naked on the front page because that’s just not decent so the naked stuff is on the inside. I guess it makes sense why the girl on the gold front page has a notebook covering her boobies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know you don’t have to sit in here with me, right?” I can tell by the way she talks that she is holding her mouth in her hands. She is probably like me, laying down on my belly with my hand underneath my chinny-chin-chin. “You can go out to the lake and go swimming with everyone else, I’m fine here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know how to swim.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I told a little lie but little lies are okay as long as they're little so you don’t hurt no feelings. I know how to swim good, actually. I got a silver medal and a certificate saying I passed swim classes, I’m a winner, yay. I only told her I don’t know how to swim ‘cause I don’t want her to feel bad that I’m in here. She lied to me too, so I think that makes us even. She don’t want me to know it, but I do. I know she’s not really feeling sick. I know she just don’t wanna go outside in a bathing suit around everybody else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nobody ever taught you how to swim?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” I turn to the next page and WOW her boobies are so big that they touch her chin! How do they grow like that?! “How do you think you get big boobs?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think if you’re fat, they just come with the territory.” I hear her turn the page too. “Plus I think it’s in your genes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s in my jeans? I don’t have a lot of jeans, I have skirts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not your </span>
  <em>
    <span>jeans</span>
  </em>
  <span>, stupid. Your </span>
  <em>
    <span>genes.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Like genetics.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Duh, Rachel. You dumbo. Why would big boobs hide in denim jeans? Where would they go? In the back pockets? “So you mean like, if my Daddy has big boobs, I would have big boobs too ‘cause he could pass that down to me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More like your mom,” she moves and I know it because the bed goes squeeeeeeeak. “If your mom has big boobs, you’ll probably have big boobs too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if my mom has big boobs…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I like my new friend a lot, a lot, a lot. But sometimes she makes me feel uncomfy. I don’t want to think about my mom always. Thinking about that makes me sad like I was that time everybody in class made a card for their mom but I had to make it for my Dad and Daddy and everyone pointed and laughed, “Rachel Gaychel” and I was sad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you ever think about your mom a lot?” She asks and my eyes are a little bit wet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really.” I lie to her again but this time it’s just ‘cause it’s not her business and she can mind her own beeswax. “Does your mom have big boobs?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ew, Rachel, gross!” She laughs so I know she’s just kidding. “She has mom boobs! They’re like… like…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like mom boobs?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, like mom boobs!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom boobs are saggy,” I stick my tongue out at the thought, nasty. “And they have to wear bras all the time or else they’ll roam all over the place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And sometimes they gotta put deodorant under them so they don’t sweat ‘cause they sag reeeeal bad. At least that’s what my sister says.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of us laugh really really hard and the tears that made my eyes wet when I thought about my mom come rolling down my cheeks, river. But they’re not sad tears, so they don’t make me feel bad. They’re happy tears and only make me wanna laugh harder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do think about my mom sometimes.” I only tell her that after we’re done laughing ‘cause I feel bad for lying to her. She just made me laugh lots, so why would I lie to her? That’s not very nice. “I mostly just wonder what she looks like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know anything about her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really. My dads always said if I wanna know something, alls I gotta do is ask but I don’t want to ask them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So they </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>tell you that you were adopted?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not stupid, ya know. I know how the birds and the bees work. I know that only a mom and dad can have a baby. So I must have a mom somewhere. She just didn’t want me, I don’t think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well that’s stupid.” Her hand plays peek-a-boo again but this time she’s not handing me no more magazines. Her hand just stays on my bed and I think she wants me to hold it. I like her pink nail polish. It’s pretty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s stupid?” I lay my hand right on top of hers and it makes me feel tingly inside to touch her. It’s a million butterflies are flying inside of me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” her thumb rubs mine nice. “I don’t see how anybody couldn’t want you, Rachel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you for serious?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh. You’re a really good singer and a really nice friend and you’re really pretty and you always smell good. Somebody’s gotta want you. It just don’t make no sense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I wonder why she gave me to my dads then… I wonder why she don’t want me to know what she’s like…” I am very sad talking about this, but somehow having her hand skin on my hand skin makes me feel really good. I hope she never takes it away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if she died? What if that’s why she isn’t with you?” She gives me a suggestion, I think it’s called.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well that’s really sad, don’t you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course it’s sad, but it makes sense. What if she died after she had you but you were a baby, so you were too little to remember?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think she’d have been like?” She asks me that really hard question. How am I supposed to know? I think she knows that it’s a hard question because she answers it herself. “She was probably a really good singer, just like you. With long, brown hair. Like yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think so?!” That makes me feel excited inside! What if that’s true?! What if my mom was a good singer that looked like me?! What if she wasn’t too ugly to be on Broadway like me?! “...Maybe she won a Tony!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Totally! She totally won a Tony! She was probably… um… what show do you think she was in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmmm…. RENT! No, no, wait, FUNNY GIRL! Or WICKED!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She was probably even the green girl in Wicked! No, wait, she was pretty ‘cause she looked like you. So she was the princess in Wicked. Definitely the princess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, she was Elphaba. Elphaba’s the star and she was definitely the star. She got standing ovations every single night. And made the whole audience cry when she sung Defying Gravity. They nominated her for a Tony right after her first show ‘cause she was just that good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And when she had you in the hospital, she was singing it to you then. It made you stop crying. ‘Cause you knew that she was your mom and you loved her even as a little itty bitty baby.” She moves in the bed beneath me again but her hand is still there, good. “What do you think her name was?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Bette. Like the Divine Miss B. Bette Midler, in case you didn’t know. She’s the witch in Hocus Pocus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Classic. Middle name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Middle name, Dolly. Like —“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dolly Parton, I get it. Clever. She have a last name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Streisand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bette Dolly Streisand. She was an incredible woman. Like her incredible daughter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though I know we both don’t wanna, she takes her hand away from mine anyway. She starts flipping through the Playboy magazine again and it’s almost like us holding hands for that long never even happened. I can’t really explain why ‘cause I don’t actually know why, but it feels like we did something wrong by holding hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I turn to the next page of my magazine and try to be interested in the pretty girl laying on the car with her legs all open sesame, but I am not interested in that anymore. I want to hold her hand again. I want to hold it really bad. It is like something in my body is making me want to do it so bad that it is hard to control it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about your mom?” I ask her a question just because I wanna hear her voice again. “What’s she like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I‘ll let you know when I figure it out myself.” She tosses her magazine onto the floor. “She’s nice, I guess. She cooks dinner every night and kisses us before bed. But she’s usually gone in the morning and on the weekends. I don’t even really get to spend summer with her. She and my dad are always on vacation somewhere and me and my sister have to go to sleepaway camps.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You get to go to a camp every summer? Neat-o!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that great, Rachel. Sometimes I just want to stay home and go on vacations with them. Sometimes I wish I had just one week after school lets out to just… be with my parents, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They send you away as soon as school is out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Every single year without fail. I hate summer camps.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...You like this one though, right? You’re gonna come back next summer, aren’t you? I never made a friend before, I —“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll come back to this camp every single year, I promise. Only for you, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daddy said that sometimes love means doing things for people that you don’t really want to do. Does this mean that she loves me? She don’t like summer camp, but she says she’ll come back to this camp every single year just to keep being my friend. That must mean love, huh?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m really glad you decided to be my friend.” I let my hand fall over the edge of the bed and hope that she will hold it again. “I don’t have a lot of friends back at home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Somehow, I don’t find that very hard to believe.” She giggles and so do I because I’m starting to learn when she’s making a joke, ha.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m for serious, though. Sometimes I don’t feel like I really even belong in the world. Nobody ever wants to be my friend. Everybody says they don’t like me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be your friend forever, okay? Stop worrying about those other little shits.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She makes me laugh every time she says a bad word and this time is the same. I laugh all over again and she didn’t hold my hand like I wanted her to, but that’s okay because I’m not mad. I mostly just want a little snack, so I use the ladder and climb off the top bunk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking at her feels not right, probably ‘cause I wasn’t looking at her for a long time. She was on the bottom bunk and I was on the top and we were minding our own beeswax just talking. She looks at little different to me when I look at her after all this time. Her sloppy ponytail looks pretty to me all of a sudden, and her Totally Spies! t-shirt and shorts look like really good clothes to me. She is very very very pretty. Prettiest girl I ever met, probably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want one?” I ask her when I pull the box of Nutty Buddy Bars from my snack suitcase.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks at the box for a second like she really wants one, but she shakes her head and says, “No, I’m good. Thank you though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I know she wants one and I know she’s lying to me and I think we are close friends enough to tell each other don’t lie. We need to tell the truth or else we will not be friends anymore because friends don’t lie to each other unless it’s to not hurt feelings except why would she hurt my feelings by not wanting a Nutty Buddy? She makes no sense, zip. Zero. Zilch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I throw a Nutty Buddy on her bed anyway since I know she wanted to say yes. I look at her and I say, “How come I haven’t heard you coughing? Or throwing up? Or going poop?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell are you going on about now, you little nutcase?” She opens up the Nutty Buddy and see! I was right, she did want one! Ha ha.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said you’re sick and that’s why you didn’t wanna go swimming with everybody else. But I haven’t heard you coughing or nothing. You don’t seem sick to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had a headache, actually, I —“</span>
</p><p>“You shouldn’t worry about them other little shits. Isn’t that what you just told me?” I sit on her bed next to her and we eat our Nutty Buddies together. I said a bad word, uh-oh, but I don’t think it’s that bad really. I won’t get in trouble since nobody heard me. “You shouldn’t worry about the other kids thinking you’re fat.”</p><p>
  <span>“...Thanks, Rachel,” she smiles at me like she doesn’t want to show teeth but that’s okay because I know it’s a good honest smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks down at her fingers that have melted chocolate all over them, ick. I think she’s going to lick them clean because she brings them up to her mouth except I’m totally wrong! She doesn’t lick them off, she wipes the chocolate on my face!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“HEY!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You looked like you needed a little more chocolate!” She giggles and tries to push me away when I want to smear chocolate on her face too. “NO!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“IT’S PAYBACK!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She fights me just a little. But I still end up getting chocolate on her too.</span>
</p><p> </p><h1>
  <span class="emoji">☼</span>
</h1><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s an owl going HOO HOO HOO outside our window and the other two girls that we share a room with are snoring sleeping. I have to use the moonlight coming through the cracked open window to see my steps as I climb off the top bunk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s sleeping too. She’s not snoring or anything, but she’s rolled over on her side and her mouth is open, slobber on the pillow… ew. I’m quiet and careful getting out of the bed because I don’t want to wake our roomies up. Just her I want to wake up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey…” I whisper kinda loud and tap her on the shoulder. “Wake up… wake up!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm… sea…horse, octopus…” she mumbles as she wakes up and I laugh at her a little bit. Aww, she’s cute! “Pony… hm, what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a pony, silly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rachel?!” She’s a little loud so the other girls roll around in their beds until I tell her shh! “What?! Why are you waking me up?!” She’s whispering now, but still loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just get up, okay? And shhh!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not until you tell me what’s going on!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wanted to save it as a surprise, but I don’t think she’s gonna get up out of bed without me telling her, so I guess I must. I stand on my tip-tip-tippy toes and grab the two towels and bathing suits I rounded up when she was in the bathroom way earlier. I hand her the pink and yellow one that I got from her suitcase and keep my dark blue one with the white polka dots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going swimming, come on!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What time is it?” She yawns but she sits up and stretches so I think she’s going to come with me, probably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, but I just saw the counselor cabin light go out, so everybody’s sleeping. Come on!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The both of us are really sneaky quiet when we leave our cabin so we don’t get caught and lucky for us, we have the cabin closest to the lake so it’s not a far walk. Both of us didn’t bother to put on shoes ‘cause that would have made a whole lotta noise and got us in trouble. We walk bare-feet in the grass and stop beside the tree that we first met behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here, gimme your towel,” I say and she hands it right over. I hang both our towels up on a tree branch that is low enough for us to reach. “You can change, I won’t look.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t look, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Our backs go facing each other so we don’t look and we take our pajammies off so we can put on our bathing suits instead. It’s like that feeling that I can’t control again, like when I wanted to hold her hand so bad that it was the only thing on my mind. I want to look even though I told her I wouldn’t. I want to look so, so, so bad. But that’s wrong, I know it. Friends don’t look at other friends naked, that’s a weirdo thing. It’s not good to wonder if your friend looks like the Playboy girls with no clothes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I am a little embarrassed because I want to look, but it’s only embarrassment on the inside. Sometimes inside embarrassment is worse than outside embarrassment though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ready?” She asks me and for some reason, I kind of feel like she wanted to look at me too. I could be wrong, but I feel that way so maybe I’m not wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s just jump in!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said you can’t swim, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you said you were sick. I didn’t want you to sit in the room alone, so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you lied to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just a little,” I shrug my shoulders and hold out my hand for her to take. She does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And we hold hands as we run and jump deep into the lake.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. what are you smiling for?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
  <span class="emoji">☼</span>
</h1><p><br/>I meant to make it a point to memorize Santana’s class schedule as well as my own, because I want to keep track of all the times I will have the room to myself.</p><p>Not that my first day of classes was hard because it wasn’t, I just managed to get lost even though I walked the entire route from my dorm to each of my lecture halls yesterday. I must have made a wrong turn or something, because I ended up on the wrong street and had to ask someone with a NYADA school ID hanging from her keychain how to get back to my dorm. Luckily for me, she was very nice about it.</p><p>I wandered the streets for about an hour before I found the girl who helped me. I tried to use the maps app on my phone but it just confused me even more, and I had just about given up. I sat on the bench with sweat dripping down my face, about to cry and call Daddy when I saw her walking past me.</p><p>Even if Santana is inside the room when I walk inside, I’m still going to take a shower to wash all this nasty sweat off of me,  and I’m still going to climb in my bed and take a well-deserved nap before I head down to the cafeteria to see what’s for dinner.</p><p>I turn my key inside the lock and walk inside my room just as I feel my phone vibrate in the back pocket of my shorts. I stand in the doorway to answer it just in case Santana <em> is </em>inside the room, because I already know that it’s him. He said he’d text me as soon as I got out of my classes and he knows I should be done by 3:00. What he doesn’t know is that I got done at 2:00 today because everyone ended early after they gave us the syllabuses.</p><p>My phone reads my fingerprint and unlocks, and to my surprise, the text message I open up isn’t from him at all.</p><p>I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face when I see that it’s from Dani.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>iMessage</b>
</p><p> </p><p><b>DANI: </b>Hey hey hey! Are you done with classes for the day? Just text me when you’re done. We’re going to the cafeteria at 6 to eat dinner, then having a jam sesh in my room @ 8. You’re welcome to come to both!</p><p> </p><p><b>RACHEL: </b>Sounds great.I actually just got back to my room. Gonna shower and stuff and relax for a bit. I’ll meet you guys at the cafeteria at 6. Excited to… jam! Lol.</p><p>I wouldn’t say that today was a bad day, but it wasn’t the greatest day I’ve ever had and it’s crazy how one single text from Dani can change that completely. I’m still smiling even when I take my shoes off and leave them by the door.</p><p>But my smile doesn’t last very long.</p><p>It turns to ice cold fear when I see him there, sitting with his feet swung over the side of my bed, rummaging through my bedside table drawer. It’s 89 degrees outside today and relatively sunny for an end of the summer New York day. I was sweating bullets before I got here, inside my room. Now, a chill rolls up my spine and gives me goosebumps. My blood has officially run cold.</p><p>I have a million questions. Like how did he get in here? How did he get here when Ohio is nearly eight hours away? Why didn’t he tell me he was coming? Does anybody else know he’s here? How long has he been here? What exactly is he seeing in my drawer? What exactly did I put in there?</p><p>I have a million questions, but I can’t ask any of them as long as the room keeps turning and making me dizzy.</p><p>“F—“ I start to call his name, perhaps to ask him why he’s in my room when he should be back in Ohio, but my throat burns with vomit that rises up from my stomach. I swallow, and it hurts.</p><p>“What are you smiling for?” He shuts the drawer with a little more force than necessary and stands up. “Lemme see your phone.”</p><p>I squeeze my phone in my hand just to make sure it’s still real and I’m not dreaming, but I don’t hand it over to him. I don’t really want him to see that I’m smiling over Dani. I don’t think he would know that I might possibly like her just by the way our texts sound, but I feel like he could smell it on me. Someone once told me that bees can smell fear on their prey before they sting them.</p><p>I wonder if he’s a bee and if he can smell it on me.</p><p>I could tell him the truth. I could tell him that I was smiling because my neighbor texted me and asked me to hang out later and I’m glad that I’m making friends. He would question who my friends are for sure, and he wouldn’t let me rest until I told him that every male in my friend group is gay or taken, but at least I wouldn’t have to keep up with a lie. I could tell him the truth. That would be easy.</p><p>Or I could just change the subject and hope that he forgets about me smiling, because if he even senses that I might have a thing for Dani, that could be bad. Very, very bad.</p><p>“Wh-What are you doing here?” I smile at him now, hoping that it seems genuine. I even add a brief little hug to keep myself in the clear. “You’re not supposed to be here, you’re supposed —“</p><p>“I missed you, you know,” he looks down at me with the crinkles in his eyes that only come when he’s genuinely smiling. His fingers brush sticky strands of my hair away from my forehead and I almost flinch. “You’re sweaty. Why are you wearing long sleeves when it’s hot out there? Where you coming back from?”</p><p>“Class.” I hold onto his hand and lead him to sit down on my bed with me because in my head, I guess he’s less dangerous if he’s sitting. “I thought it was gonna be colder than this today, so I wore long sleeves.” I lie. I knew very well that it was going to be hot today, but the cut on my wrist is still pretty nasty. I have to hide it like I hide the paintings he puts on me. “I got like, lost on my way here and —“</p><p>“You went to class?” He loops his finger underneath the tight fabric clinging to my skin and every nerve in my body is alive. “With <em> these </em>shorts on?”</p><p>“Finn, come on, they’re just shorts.” I push his hand away from me slowly. “You should see half the girls on campus and how they dress, they —“</p><p>“So you wanna be like half the girls on campus? Walking around in shorts that show your ass?”</p><p>“No, but what I’m saying is —“</p><p>“If you wanna walk around looking like a cheap slut, be my guest. But don’t get mad or be surprised when you get all that attention you’re looking for.” He says, then I’m silent. </p><p>I’ve learned when to talk back to him and when not to. There isn’t anything I can say to change his mind about my outfit. He thinks I’m dressed like a slut and there’s no other way around it, so talking back is pointless. Instead, I just tug my shorts down so they’re not quite as offensive to him.</p><p>“Look, I’m sorry for snapping like that.” He puts his hand underneath my chin and I stop breathing. My heartbeat quickens, I can hear it in my ears. Can he smell the fear? He lifts my face up so I’m not looking down anymore. Can he smell it? “I just don’t want other guys looking at you. You’re hot, you know. I don’t want anyone else thinking it.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” I shrug out of his grip and take a discrete deep breath to try and calm down. “How did you… you know… get here? Are you staying or something? Because you can’t stay here. My RA is doing room checks tonight and if he sees you here, he’ll freak.”</p><p>“Will you relax? I only came up for a day, just to check on you and make sure you’re doing alright settling in. Most girls would be happy their boyfriend loves them enough to drive eight hours just to take her to dinner.”</p><p>“Yeah, but Finn, I have plans for dinner already. You can’t just —“</p><p>“So cancel your plans? I literally drove all this way just to see you and you’re gonna blow me off? Wow, Rachel, I really thought —“</p><p>“You can’t just drop in on me like that! You can’t just show up here without warning, this is my COLLEGE! How did you even… who even let you in here?!”</p><p>“I wasn’t exactly expecting you to roll out the welcome mat, but I never thought you’d be this bitchy about it. You act like I can’t surprise you. What does it matter how I got in or how I got here? I did it for you…” </p><p>He shifts his body towards me and puts his hands on my shoulders. His fingers just barely graze the mess of purple and blue that he put on my left shoulder a month ago and just the slightest, most ginger touch makes me jump out of my skin. It’s not healed there just yet. That was a really bad one; one that I still wince at when I wash myself in the shower. Even my bra strap makes that one hurt.</p><p>“Why are you so jumpy?!” He scoffs at me and pulls his hands away. “What, now I’m not allowed to touch you?”</p><p>“I didn’t say that, I just…” I sigh. “...How are things going in Lima, anyway?”</p><p>I can’t tell him that my shoulder still hurts from a month ago because then we’ll rehash the entire situation and he’ll tell me again that it was my fault for grabbing the wheel and trying to get him to slow the car down. He’ll tell me that he just acted on impulse when he shoved me into the car window so hard it cracked, tell me that I’m only trying to make him feel bad for what was ultimately my doing.</p><p>“Great, actually,” he wraps his arm around my shoulder and I have to grit my teeth to bear with how much it hurts. “I got the shop open. Business is slow because some prick opened up one right across the street and his prices are better, but it’s good. We do a few oil changes a day, a couple tire rotations.”</p><p>“I’m proud of you,” I say. “Are you thinking about getting another job though? Until business starts picking up?”</p><p>“What, you don’t think owning my own business is good enough?” He takes his arm from around my shoulders and as much as that relieves me of my excruciating pain, it unsettles me. With a free arm, he’s clear to do… anything. And I seem to have set him off… “You think I’m wasting my time?”</p><p>“No, of course it’s fine. Owning your own car shop… Finn, that’s great! I’m just saying, you said business is slow so that must mean not a lot of money is coming in, so I was wondering if you were gonna —“</p><p>“So now I’m broke. That’s really nice, Rachel. Real supportive.”</p><p>“I just meant something a little more steady! Something with an income you can count on!”</p><p>“No, you mean that you think you’re better than me just because you went to college and I didn’t.” He bawls his hands up into fists and I secretly grab onto my pillow… it’s not much protection, but it’ll be something… “I’m so sick of you constantly putting me down! All you do is tell me that I’m not good enough for you and that I’m —“</p><p>The only thing that stops him from escalating is the sound of the door swinging open and Santana’s footsteps thundering through. If it were a normal day, maybe I’d be a little annoyed at the way she just came barreling in loudly with no regard for me and what I might be doing. Since it’s not a normal day, however, I am extremely grateful for her presence.</p><p>“I had the MOST amazing day,” she says, dropping her backpack onto the floor before noticing that she and I aren’t alone. “My professor is a GENIUS. She literally —“ she spins around to face my side of the room finally, and her eyes widen, then narrow, then widen again. “Uh, hi?”</p><p>“Santana, this is Finn. My boyfriend.” I mumble, still carrying a little bit of that fear. “Finn, this is Santana. My roommate.”</p><p>“Good thing I wasn’t walking in here naked,” she rolls her eyes and unzips her backpack before plopping down on her bed. “You know, you should really tell me before you decide to have men in here.”</p><p>“He surprised me. I didn’t know he was coming.” I try to grin just to seem like I’m happy, but I don’t think the grin quite reaches my eyes. Santana looks at me with slightly wrinkled eyebrows that read concern more than irritation.</p><p>“Uh...huh…” she looks at me from head to toe and I still wear my fake half-smile. “Well you still could’ve texted me and told me he was here. What if I walked in on you two bumping pelvises or something? That would’ve been an image burned in the back of my head. I could’ve sued you for pain and suffering.”</p><p>“Could you give us a minute?” Finn asks her, which totally surprises me. He must really be angry to be so blatant and bold. Actually, I know for a fact that he’s angry. I know this by the way he grabs ahold of my hand and squeezes. “We were talking about something.”</p><p>The girl I met at summer camp back when I was eight was the best friend I’ve ever had in this world. We used to have our own secret language, it seemed. She could look at me from across the cafeteria and it was like our minds were transmitting messages to one another. I knew what she was thinking with just one look, and she knew what I was thinking before I even thought it. I’ve never had a connection with somebody like that… not since I left camp that summer.</p><p>I really wish I had that connection with Santana right now. I wish she could tell just by the way I’m looking at her that I really, really, really need her to refuse to leave. I really, really, really need her to not leave me alone in this room with him.</p><p>I try to wriggle my hand out of his grasp but he has such a tight grip that my fingers crackle. I glance up at him just to see if I can tell if he’s still angry or not, and he’s biting his lip. He’s biting his lip… Please, Santana…</p><p>“I’m just gonna be here studying. I’ll put my headphones in, I won’t hear ya.” Santana’s expressive eyebrows relax and she opens up her laptop. “You can just pretend I’m not even here.”</p><p>She stuffs her headphones into her ears and turns her attention to her computer, and Finn turns his attention to me. He looks down at me — in more ways than one — and raises his eyebrows, expectantly. He wants me to tell Santana to leave, I know he does. He’s expecting me to back him up and force her out of our room so we can finish our “conversation.” And when I don’t? When I say nothing at all?</p><p>He squeezes my hand so tight that all four of my fingers burn, and they throb as soon as he lets go.</p><p>“It’s fine!” He yells in Santana’s direction but his cold, chilly brown eyes never leave me. “...I was just leaving anyway.”</p><p>He keeps looking at me, too. His eyes never leave mine as he walks backwards through my room and to my door. I feel myself shrinking under his gaze. Smaller, smaller, smaller… maybe eventually, I’ll disappear.</p><p>“Sorry about that,” I say to Santana as soon as Finn’s gone and feel my voice returning back to its normal, not-scared tone. “I didn’t know he was coming. He literally just showed up and —“</p><p>“Are you okay?” She pulls her headphones out of her ears and closes her laptop. “Like, actually okay?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m fine. Why? Why wouldn’t I be?”</p><p>“I dunno, don’t you think it’s a little creepy to come back to your room and your boyfriend is just chillin’ here?”</p><p>“He does that kinda thing all the time. He likes to surprise me, so he —“</p><p>“Eight hours, though? He drove eight hours just to… come sit in your room for a day?”</p><p>“It’s fine, Santana. Really, it’s fine. Finn just does that kinda stuff. He really loves me.” I sit back down on my bed and run my fingers along the pillow I was going to use to protect myself if it came to that. “Dani invited me over to her room later to have a jam session or whatever. You wanna come?”</p><p>“Only if you’re sure you’re okay…” she looks at me like she doesn’t believe me and she’s right to not believe me. But I really, really don’t want to talk about it. “He’s creepy, you know.”</p><p>“It’s fine, Santana.” I lie through my teeth. “<em> I’m </em>fine.”</p>
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